LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


MR.    INGLESIDE 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON  •    CHICAGO 
ATLANTA  •   SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


MR.   INGLESIDE 


BY 

E.   V.    LUCAS 


fgorfc 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1910 

All  right*  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1910, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  September,  19 10. 


Nortoooo 

J.  8.  Cushtng  Co.  —  Berwick  «fe  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PACK 

I.     In  which  a  self-contained  gentleman  suddenly 

feels  lonely I 

II.     In  which  we  enter  a  circle  of  friends  on  the 

banks  of  a  grey  river       .....        5 

III.  In  which   we   catch   sight   of  matrons   in  the 

making,  and  father  and  daughter  meet    .         .       15 

IV.  In  which  an  instructress  of  youth  has  qualms      .      21 
V.     In  which  gentlemen's  palates  are  discussed,  and 

age  wins 29 

VI.     In  which  there  is  nothing  but  talk       ...      36 
VII.     In  which  a  matter-of-fact  young  woman  steps  out 

towards  independence 46 

VIII.     In  which  a  grandmother   asks  questions   and 

supplies  answers 58 

IX.     In  which  we  find  some  ancient  remedies,  and 

Christie  looks  back          .....      64 
X.     In  which  an  Irish  comforter  gets  quickly  to  work      72 
XI.     In  which  we  meet  two  of  Miss  Muirhead's  clients      80 
XII.     In  which  we  visit  the  high-priestess  of  a  temple 

of  antiquity 85 

XIII.  In  which  various  employments  for  women  that 

involve  no  loss  of  caste  are  described      .         .      92 

XIV.  In  which  a  young  gentleman's  gentlemanly  future 

•  is  considered 100 

XV.     In  which  many  aspects  of  the  New  Terror  are 

discussed 105 


WITHDRAW 


vi 


CONTENTS 


CHAF.  PAGE 

XVI.     In  which  Our  Lady  of  Misrule  hears  the  worst     117 
XVII .     In  which  Ann  takes  down  a  letter  and  a  speech     1 22 
XVIII.     In  which  a  citizen  of  a  country  with  a  future 

visits   a  country  with  a  past     .         .         -133 
XIX.     In  which  a  young  gentleman  obtains  no  lack 

of  advice  .        .  .        .        .        •     142 

XX.     In  which  we  are  present  at  the  christening  of 

the  Caprice       .         .         '.         .         .         .149 
XXI.     In  which  a  widower  accepts   his  lot  with 

fortitude  and  dismay          .         .         .         .158 
XXII.     In  which  it  seems  that  old  ladies  too  can  be 

Napoleonic 163 

XXIII.  In  which  Alison  returns  from  the  East          .     171 

XXIV.  In  which  Alison  has  no  chance  to  relate  the 

story  of  her  travels 177 

XXV.     In  which  garrulous  sympathy  is  brought  from 

the  Seven  Sisters  Road     .         .         .         .183 
XXVI.     In  which  we  find  a  modern  Ulysses  and  a 

modern  Penelope 188 

XXVII.     In  which  an  evening  is  spent  among  curiosi 
ties,  autographs,  and  oysters      .         .         .196 
XXVIII.     In  which  a  mighty  Social  Engine  lays  bare 

some  secrets 206 

XXIX.     In  which  a  retired  beauty  becomes  wistful     .     215 
XXX.     In  which  the  stars  fight  for  John  .         .         .221 
XXXI.     In  which  the  Caprice  carries  a  happy  party 

to  a  Tudor  grange 227 

XXXII.     In  which  John  permanently  renounces  the  sex    238 

XXXIII.  In  which  Mr.  Bryan  Hearne  appears,  and  a 

father  is  left  dubious          ....     245 

XXXIV.  In  which  various  persons  receive  the  great 

news         ..,.,..     250 


CONTENTS  vii 


PAGE 


XXXV.     In  which  we  meet  with  true  Romance        .    255 
XXXVI.     In  which   a  lady-love  is  taken  round  on 

exhibition 265 

XXXVII.     In  which   old   Mrs.   Ingleside    gives    her 

blessing 273 

XXXVIII.     In  which  we  become  listeners  in  a  Norfolk 

rectory 278 

XXXIX.     In  which  masqueraders  prove  themselves 

very  human 289 

XL.     In  which  aid  is  forthcoming  for  a  house 

lacking  a  motto     .....     296 
XLI.     In  which  a  lost  voice  is  heard  and  we  meet 

Mr.  and  the  Misses  Thames  .         .         .     303 
XLII.     In  which  two  young  people  prepare  to  be 

very  happy  —  and  what  else  matters  ?     .     310 


MR.  INGLESIDE 


CHAPTER   I 

IN  WHICH  A  SELF-CONTAINED  GENTLE 
MAN  SUDDENLY  FEELS  LONELY 

MR.  and  Mrs.  Ingleside  had  never  quarrelled. 
They  had  merely  drifted  apart  in  a  perfectly 
amicable  way,  without  rancour  and  without  tears. 
Mr.  Ingleside,  his  married  period  over,  resumed 
the  status  of  a  bachelor,  at  first  in  his  own  house, 
and  later,  his  wife  having  acquired  a  tendency  to 
asthma  which  made  London  impossible,  in  his 
own  rooms  in  London ;  while  Mrs.  Ingleside,  re 
suming  the  single  state  quite  as  naturally,  settled 
at  Bournemouth,  which  wTas  not  only  good  for  her 
breathing,  on  account  of  its  profusion  of  pines, 
but  contained  also  much  congenial  society,  includ 
ing  a  Dante  Circle. 

Neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Ingleside  was  passionately 
a  parent.  Mr.  Ingleside,  when  he  met  his  daugh 
ters,  enjoyed  their  laughing  side  and  did  his  best 
to  keep  them  laughing ;  Mrs.  Ingleside 's  interests 
lying  chiefly  in  literature  and  problem  fiction,  as 
it  is  called,  she  languidly  studied  them  from  her 
sofa  when  the  holidays  projected  them  within  her 
field  of  vision.  During  these  holidays  Mr.  Ingle- 


2  MR.  INGLESIDE 

side  came  down  from  Saturday  to  Monday  and 
talked  pretty  ironical  talk  —  irony  being  the  refuge 
of  the  modern  parent  who  shrinks  from  responsi 
bility  and  an  interference  with  others  which  he  con 
siders  may  be  unjustifiable.  He  always  brought  with 
him  some  expensive  fruit  for  Mrs.  Ingleside,  but  it 
would  tax  the  conscience  of  the  Bournemouth  porters 
to  say  that  the  distinguished  gentleman  with  the  iron- 
grey  hair  took  his  seat  in  the  London  train  on  Mon 
day  mornings  with  any  other  expression  than  one 
of  complete  satisfaction.  Alison  and  Ann  accom 
panied  him  to  the  station  to  keep  the  ball  of  chaff 
in  the  air  till  the  last  possible  moment.  They  then 
walked  back  to  Mrs.  Ingleside's  sofa  with  laggard 
steps. 

For  a  week  or  two  in  the  holidays  they  stayed 
with  their  father  in  London,  in  his  comfortable 
rooms  at  the  foot  of  Buckingham  Street,  when  his 
friends,  all  a  little  out-of-the-way  and  amusing, 
rallied  to  his  side  to  assist  in  their  beguilement  and 
take  them  to  the  Zoo  and  to  Maskelyne  &  De- 
vant's  and  the  other  entertainments  for  the  young. 
Now  and  then  it  happened  in  the  course  of  these 
visits  that  some  little  trouble  would  occur  —  a  mood 
of  tiredness  or  such  a  pain  as  is  only  possible  when 
odd  and  generous  gentlemen  have  the  ordering  of 
schoolgirls'  luncheons  or  teas  —  which  led  to  a 
momentary  lifting  of  the  veil  of  raillery  that  hung 
normally  between  Mr.  Ingleside  and  his  daughters, 
and  for  an  instant  they  might  see  mistily  eyes  that 
were  misty  too  ;  but  for  the  most  part  he  chaffed  the 
week  away,  and  if  ever  he  sighed,  sighed  in  private. 


MR.   INGLESIDE  3 

So  it  had  gone  on  for  some  years.  In  his 
spare  time,  of  which  he  had  no  particular  lack, 
Mr.  Ingleside  had  played  with  literature,  and  his 
translation  of  Horace,  still  in  progress,  was  con 
sidered  to  be  —  so  far  as  prose  could  go  —  almost 
perfect.  Mr.  Ingleside's  life  was  indeed  a  very 
easy  one.  On  leaving  his  comfortable  rooms  every 
morning,  at  an  hour  late  enough  for  the  world  to 
be  warmed,  he  walked  to  a  hardly  less  comfortable 
apartment  in  one  of  the  huge  Government  build 
ings  in  Whitehall.  It  may  have  been  the  Board  of 
Education  ;  it  may  have  been  the  Board  of  Trade, 
or  even  the  Treasury :  few  knew  which,  and  the 
wags  said  that  Ingleside  himself  was  not  certain. 
Whatever  it  was,  he  said  nothing  about  it ;  but  it 
was  generally  understood  that  he  was  a  permanent 
official  of  high  standing,  and,  being  already  a  C.B., 
was  in  serious  danger,  two  or  three  times  a  year, 
on  the  critical  days  for  English  gentlemen,  of  re 
ceiving  a  knighthood. 

At  the  time  this  chronicle  opens  Mr.  Ingleside 
was  fifty-one,  while  Mrs.  Ingleside  was  a  little  his 
senior.  In  panic  as  to  her  health,  which  had  been 
steadily  declining,  Mrs.  Ingleside  had  just  started 
with  Alison  on  a  six  months'  visit  to  Japan.  Ann 
was  still  at  school. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  affairs  when  one 
morning  Mr.  Ingleside  awoke  quite  early,  with  a 
totally  new  sense  of  loneliness  which  quickly  led  him 
to  the  decision  that  Ann  should  at  once  leave  school 
and  come  to  live  with  him.  She  had  been  at  school 
long  enough,  he  reasoned ;  she  was  a  quick  girl,  and 


4  MK.   INGLESIDE 

was  now  ripe  to  learn  far  more  from  life  than  from 
instructors,  even  though  they  had  the  highest 
references  and  best  diplomas.  What  was  far  more 
important,  Mr.  Ingleside  felt,  was  that  he  wanted 
her  company.  He  was  not  old  ;  he  was  not  ill ;  he 
was  not  bored ;  but  there  was  a  tiny  ache  in  his 
heart  that  morning  which  could  be  explained  by  no 
doctor  save  a  doctor  of  the  mind. 

Mr.  Ingleside,  being  one  who  was  used  to  having 
his  own  way  and  having  it  swiftly,  sat  down  before 
breakfast  and  wrote  two  letters. 

"DEAR  Miss  RIDLEY,"  — ran  the  first, —  "I  shall 
have  much  pleasure  in  accepting  your  kind  invitation 
to  the  prize  distribution  on  the  lyth,  especially  as  it  will 
be  Ann's  last,  as  I  have  decided  that  she  shall  come  to 
live  with  me  here  during  her  sister's  absence  abroad." 

The  other  was  to  Ann  herself. 

"DEAR  TANSY,"  —  wrote  her  father,  —  "I  want  you 
to  come  and  look  after  your  aged  parent  and  get  him  ready 
for  the  silent  tomb.  If  you  will  do  that,  I  will  be  equally 
generous  and  will  come  to  the  French  play  on  the  i7th,  but 
only  on  the  further  condition  that,  unless  you  are  acting  in  it, 
you  will  sit  by  me  and  translate ;  and  after  that  no  more 
school.  We  will  be  very  comfortable  together,  by  Heaven 
we  will." 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  WHICH  WE  ENTER  A  CIRCLE  OF 
FRIENDS  ON  THE  BANKS  OF  A  GREY 
RIVER 

MR.  INGLESIDE  was  one  of  those  rare  men  who 
are  as  nice  in  their  own  homes  as  they  are  in 
other  people's  —  if  not  nicer.  In  fact,  he  liked  his 
own  home  best  —  too  well,  he  used  to  say,  since  it 
made  him  a  bad  traveller,  and,  though  a  good  guest, 
an  unwilling  one.  It  is  the  uncomfortable  men  in 
their  own  homes  that  make  the  best  visitors. 

It  was  for  a  good  reason  that  he  rarely  dined  out. 
His  pleasure  lay  so  much  more  in  the  direction,  of 
informality  —  friendships  rather  than  acquaintance 
ships  —  that  he  hesitated  to  jeopardize  it  by  absent 
ing  himself  from  his  own  roof-tree.  His  rooms  were 
one  of  the  last  strongholds  of  the  dropping-in  habit ; 
and  how  could  they  continue  to  be  so  if  their  owner 
continually  left  them?  ."It  is  more  blessed,"  he 
would  say,  "to  entertain  than  to  be  entertained." 
And  indeed  it  is  well  that  a  few  persons  should 
remain  to  keep  alive  the  old  custom  of  casual  even 
ing  visits,  or  it  must  die  the  death.  London's  self- 
conscious  and  scientifically  ordered  hospitalities 
menace  it  nightly. 

It  was  Mr.  Ingleside's  feeling  for  the  river,  which 
5 


6  MR.  INGLESIDE 

amounted  almost  to  a  passion,  that  had  fixed  his 
home  in  Buckingham  Street.  If  the  Thames  Con 
servancy  were  a  body  elected  only  from  lyrical 
enthusiasts,  he  would  have  been  the  chairman.  He 
had  waited  long  for  his  present  rooms,  having 
marked  them  down  years  before,  and  indeed  having 
offered  the  late  tenant  a  large  bribe  to  vacate  them 
untimely.  But  no,  London's  riparians  are  hard  to 
dislodge :  it  is  a  stream  which  makes  for  fidelity. 
Then  came  Death  with  the  scythe  that  sooner  or 
later  cuts  every  knot,  and  the  new  tenant  walked  in, 
turned  around  three  times,  so  to  speak,  like  a  tired 
dog,  and  was  at  home. 

It  is  probable  that  had  he  been  able  to  foresee  the 
chromatic  advertisements  of  Wellingtonia  Wine  and 
Shamrock  Tea  burning  their  jumpy  way  through  the 
night,  and  the  establishment  of  so  vast  and  noisy  and 
tireless  a  fleet  of  Dreadnought  trams  as  that  which  now 
patrols  the  north  bank  of  the  Thames,  he  might 
have  made  his  abode  farther  west,  at  Chelsea  ;  but, 
having  waited  for  this  home,  and  for  a  while  enjoyed 
it  without  these  vexations,  he  would  not  change  now, 
being  sufficiently  a  Londoner  to  tolerate,  and  indeed 
possibly  even  to  like,  a  London  nuisance  after  a  day 
or  two,  and  at  heart  to  be  pleased  to  have  near  at 
hand  objects  so  suitable  for  humorous  attack  and 
mock  indignation.  Only  a  surgical  operation,  and 
that  a  very  serious  one,  can  stop  a  true  Londoner's 
grumbling,  or  induce  him  to  live  anywhere  else. 

One  of  the  pictures  in  the  hall  was  a  print  of  old 
London  Bridge  with  the  massed  houses  upon  it ;  and 
it  is  there  that  Mr.  Ingleside  would  assuredly  have 


MR.  INGLESIDE  7 

lived  had  he  been  a  medieval.  But  of  course,  as  he 
often  said,  the  Thames  of  that  day  had  none  of  the 
fascination  of  the  Thames  as  we  know  it  now.  It 
needed  the  arts  of  sophistication  to  bring  out  its 
deepest  subtleties  —  just  as  a  woman  does.  The 
Thames  must  have  been  beautiful  always  ;  but  there 
is  a  beauty  of  the  wild  and  a  beauty  of  the  city ;  and 
it  is  the  beauty  of  a  city  river  —  and  a  city  of  human 
energy  —  that  the  Thames  so  exquisitely  has.  The 
colour  that  it  borrows  from  the  sky  is  less  wonderful 
than  that  which  it  gains  in  conflict  with  the  glow  of 
gas  and  electricity.  Its  sunsets  must  be  thickened 
and  engloomed  by  factory  smoke  ere  they  can  tinge 
it  with  the  hues  we  know.  Only  thus  it  becomes  our 
stream  of  mystery. 

Mr.  Ingleside's  bedroom  windows  gave  upon  the 
Embankment,  and  he  knew  every  aspect  of  the  river's 
genius  —  from  its  mists  at  dawn  and  its  gold  at  sun 
rise,  throughout  the  busy  day  of  tugs  and  barges, 
to  the  brilliant  blackness  ofrits  night. 

It  was  Mr.  Ingleside's  old-fashioned  rule  to  keep 
open  house  every  Friday  evening.  His  friends  were 
welcome  at  all  times,  but  on  Fridays  they  not  only 
might  themselves  drop  in,  but  bring  with  them 
anyone  they  liked.  They  began  to  arrive  at  about 
nine  and  left  between  twelve  and  one. 

Chief  among  the  more  constant  visitors  was 
Dr.  Staminer.  Dr.  Staminer  was  now  an  elderly 
man  ;  he  had  come,  as  he  himself  put  it,  to  a  point 
of  life  when  one  turns  first  to  the  death  column  of 
the  Times:  to  see  who  has  gone  being  more  impor 
tant  than  to  see  what  has  happened.  He  had  given 


8  ME.  INGLESIDE 

up  his  practice  for  some  years,  and  no  longer  was 
willing  even  to  be  consulted.  His  hobby  was  col 
lecting,  and  his  house  in  Gower  Street  was  a  museum 
rather  than  a  home.  Everything  that  was  curious 
had  an  appeal  for  the  doctor,  whose  sense  of  beauty 
was  poor.  Hence  he  had  no  pictures  but  odd  ones  : 
that  head  of  Christ  engraved  in  one  spiral  line  would 
be  more  to  him  than  the  sweet  and  exquisite  nor 
mality  of  a  Filippino  Lippi.  His  lumber,  however, 
included  one  or  two  signboards  attributed  to  David 
Cox,  Morland,  and  even  Hogarth,  which  took  their 
place  quite  naturally  among  Fiji  weapons,  Chinese 
instruments  of  torture,  violins,  Maundy  money, 
Toby  jugs,  and  animals  carved  in  cornelian. 

But  his  real  distinction  as  a  collector  lay  in  his 
autographs,  of  which  he  had  such  an  extraordinary 
assemblage  that  there  was  hardly  a  historian  or 
biographer  in  England  or  Europe  but  had  sought 
access  to  it  in  the  course  of  his  labours.  Dr.  Stam- 
iner  usually  gave  permission  ;  but  there  were  certain 
of  his  treasures  that  no  one  was  allowed  to  copy. 

"Very  immoral  and  curmudgeonly,"  Mr.  Ingle- 
side  used  to  call  it.  "  How  dare  you  keep  back  good 
letters  like  that?"  (the  doctor  even  had  a  few  of 
Lamb's).  "They  belong  to  the  world,  not  to  you." 

But  the  doctor  used  only  to  laugh.  "What's 
mine  I'll  hold,"  he  replied.  "The  world  has  made  it 
possible  for  me  to  acquire  them ;  and  the  world 
therefore  must  wait."  But  it  was  always  under 
stood  that  the  doctor  intended  to  publish  his  best 
autographs  himself,  when  the  hour  struck.  Mean 
while,  he  continued  to  buy  more,  and  was  as  well 


MR.   INGLESIDE  9 

known  at  Sotheby's  as  the  late  Mr.  Salting  at 
Christie's.  And  he  had  the  pleasant  habit  of 
bringing  a  new  treasure  to  Mr.  Ingleside's  rooms, 
that  his  little  circle  of  friends  at  any  rate  might 
enjoy  it  too. 

Perhaps  the  most  serious  member  of  the  circle  was 
Richard  Oast,  M.P.,  one  of  the  quieter  and  more 
thoughtful  members  of  the  Labour  party.  Mr. 
Ingleside  had  met  him  officially,  and  they  had 
become  friends — although  both  were  then  nearly 
fifty,  an  age  when  new  friends  become  very  difficult 
of  acquisition.  Disciples,  yes,  and  flatterers ;  but 
not  friends.  Richard  Oast  was  a  widower  and  a 
lonely  one,  and  he  needed  society,  while  he  had  now 
come  to  a  time  of  life  when  he  could  afford  at  last 
to  be  a  little  easy  and  restful.  His  business — he  was 
a  boat  builder  on  the  Thames — had  done  well,  and  he 
was  in  fact  in  a  position  to  go  into  Parliament  as  a 
member  of  the  idle  class  had  he  wished  to ;  but 
he  preferred  to  throw  in  his  lot  with  the  Labour 
men,  although  many  of  them  were  too  extreme  for 
his  entire  approval.  He  was  a  type,  with  (like  all 
types)  certain  modifications.  Thus,  he  had  the 
ordinary  practical  agnosticism  of  the  Socialist,  but  it 
was  softened  by  an  uncommon  gentleness,  a  touch 
of  regret  for  having  to  side  against  so  many  worthy 
and  simple  people.  His  attitude  was  singularly 
aloof  for  a  Labour  member.  He  seemed  indeed  to 
hover  a  little  above  the  ground  which  other  people 
trod,  raised  to  that  position  not  by  any  spiritual  or 
unearthly  force,  but  by  the  sheer  impartiality  of  the 
interested  observer  and  the  detachment  of  disil- 


io  MR.  INGLESIDE 

lusionment.  From  this  altitude  he  could  see  the 
right  and  wrong  of  every  party,  his  own  included. 
Such  men  never  become  prime  ministers  and  rarely 
under-secretaries  ;  but  they  are  desirable  companions. 

"I'm  tired  of  adjectives,"  he  said  one  evening, 
during  a  discussion  in  which  Leslie  had  been  dis 
tributing  condemnatory  epigrams  with  more  than 
his  usual  freedom.  "They  are  all  right  when  you're 
young ;  young  people  can  use  them  with  confidence, 
and  little  people  require  their  aid  all  the  time ;  but 
I'm  tired  of  them.  'Good'  and  'bad'  I've  partic 
ularly  done  with.  I  have  known  for  a  long  while 
now  that  there  are  no  good  men  and  no  bad  men. 
There  are  just  men  ;  that  is  to  say,  human  creatures 
built  up  of  strengths  and  weaknesses,  contradictions 
and  tendencies.  'Good'  and  'bad'  —  adjectives 
made  by  Society  for  its  own  protection.  The 
moment  a  man  says,  '  I  am  good,'  he  is  in  touch  with 
badness ;  the  moment  a  man  says,  'I  am  bad,'  he  is 
in  danger  of  becoming  better." 

His  Socialism  was  marked  by  no  anger  against  the 
rich.  He  knew  that  reforms  could  not  come  in  a 
moment,  and  that  particularly  in  England  sudden 
revolutions  were  impossible  ;  but  he  knew  also  that 
the  people  were  going  to  win.  "Of  course  Socialism 
must  come,"  he  said.  "You  can  see  it  drawing 
nearer  as  clearly  as  you  can  see,  in  the  small  hours, 
the  approach  of  day.  Socialism  never  had  so  power 
ful  an  ally  as  the  motor-car.  The  motor-car  is  the 
most  brutally  vivid  symbol  of  the  callousness,  the 
oppressiveness,  and  the  luxury  of  the  rich  that  was 
ever  devised  ;  and  every  new  motor-car  that  is  put 


MR.  INGLESIDE  u 

on  the  road  is  another  nail  in  the  coffin  of 
Plutocracy. " 

"But  doesn't  history  show  us,"  said  Dr.  Staminer, 
"that  the  poor  like  to  be  bullied  a  little  by  the  rich ; 
that  they  admire  wealth  much  more  than  they  envy 
it?" 

"History  may  show  that,"  said  Oast,  "but  history 
also  shows  that  new  ideas  make  for  change.  Ideas 
are  getting  spread  about  the  world  that  must  be 
causing  a  panic  in  all  feudal  strongholds  where  there 
is  a  grain  of  observation  or  thought.  Look  at  the 
relations  between  master  and  man  to-day  as  an 
example  of  the  rhan^e.  To-day  it  is  not  the  men 
who  fear  they  are  going  to  be  sacked,  it  is  the  masters 
who  fear  they  may  receive  notice.  That  is  symp 
tomatic,  isn't  it  ?  A  very  good  straw  to  tell  the  wind 
by. 

"We  here,  in  the  South,"  he  went  on,  "have  no 
real  chance  to  watch  the  change.  The  South  is  too 
fond  of  its  feudal  chains ;  our  hands  rise  so  naturally 
to  our  forelocks.  Everything  in  the  South  —  by 
which  particularly  I  mean  London  and  Surrey  and 
Kent  and  Sussex  —  is  retrogressive :  there  is  no 
spirit  of  revolt.  Even  Kent's  back  has  acquired  a 
hinge — Kent  that  produced  John  Ball  and  Jack  Cade. 
You  have  only  to  look  at  the  railways  we  put  up 
with — the  monopolies  we  endure — to  recognize  that. 
But  the  North  —  that  is  where  the  furnace  is  being 
heated  for  the  melting  of  the  fetters.  All  my  holi 
days  are  spent  in  the  North." 

Henry  Thrace,  like  his  host,  was  a  Government 
official.  He  was  between  fifty  and  sixty,  one  of 


12  MR.  INGLESIDE 

those  simple,  quiet,  and  generous  bachelors  who 
always  eat  their  Sunday  dinner  in  the  same  friend's 
house  and  remember  birthdays.  "  Every  inch  an 
uncle"  might  be  cut  on  their  tombstones.  Mr. 
Thrace  himself  said  little,  but  he  had  a  chuckling 
appreciation  of  the  humour  of  others  which  made 
him  a  perfect  listener. 

Vycount  Ramer  was  a  detached  bachelor  artist 
whom  every  one  liked.  He  drifted  affectionately 
through  life  and  managed  to  make  just  as  much  of 
an  income  as  he  needed.  His  favourite  sketching- 
ground  was  Sussex.  Upon  his  odd  first  name  he 
was  very  amusing.  " Change  it?"  he  would  say; 
"  certainly  not.  It  may  be  equivocal,  but  I  don't 
mind  that,  if  you  don't.  And  after  all,  my  father 
gave  it  me  :  I  did  not  assume  it,  like  the  Sangers. 
For  it  is  a  perpetual  joy  to  me.  It  procures  me  — 
until  it  is  written — every  kind  of  homage  and  atten 
tion.  Only  this  morning,  for  example,  I  wanted 
some  dress  boots.  I  went  to  a  shop  in  R.egent  Street, 
where  I  was  by  no  means  well  treated.  The  assis 
tants  gave  me  a  glance,  decided  I  was  of  no  impor 
tance,  and  did  their  best  to  persuade  me  that  boots 
that  didn't  fit  fitted.  I  gave  them  some  trouble  in 
return,  and  they  were  heartily  sick  of  me  and  hardly 
concealed  their  feelings.  Very  well ;  it  is  then  that 
my  innings  really  begins.  '  Where  shall  we  send 
them?  What  name?'  the  man  asked.  'Vycount 
Ramer/  I  said.  An  electric  wave  ran  through  the 
shop.  The  manager  emerged  from  a  little  glass 
cubicle  in  which,  since  I  was  so  negligible,  he  had 
been  joking  with  the  cash  girl,  and  began  to  bend 


MR.   INGLESIDE  13 

his  back  and  rub  his  hands.  He  suddenly  discovered 
that  it  was  fine  weather,  and  said  so.  I  let  the  place 
get  into  a  perfect  quagmire  of  toadyism,  and  then  I 
asked  for  a  pen  to  write  the  address.  I  wrote : 
'Mr.  Vycount  Ramer,  4  Peel  Studios,  Kensington,' 
and  left  as  the  bitter  realization  had  them  in  its 

grip." 

These  were  the  older  men.  Chief  among  the 
younger  were  Jack  Christie  and  Sanders  Leslie. 
Christie  was  one  of  the  sub-editors  of  an  evening 
paper.  The  paper  being  Conservative,  he  was  of 
course  a  Radical,  if  not  actually  a  Republican,  and 
in  private  life  he  was  Richard  Oast's  very  fervent 
admirer.  Every  man  is  something  of  a  specialist  in 
one  line  or  other,  and  Christie  in  his  hours  of  leisure 
hunted  for  water  colours  of  the  early  school  and  dis 
covered  cheap  foreign  restaurants.  It  was  practi 
cally  impossible  to  meet  him  without  (a)  being 
shown  a  faint  and  faded  sketch  almost  certain  to  be 
a  Girtin,  and  (b)  being  adjured  to  try  a  new  eighteen- 
penny  table  d'hote.  For  Christie  had  none  of  the 
ordinary  man's  selfishness  in  such  matters.  He 
liked  to  share  his  pleasures. 

Soho  was  full  of  his  little  paradises,  and  every 
week  he  had  added  another  to  his  list.  His  favour 
ite  was  of  course  "Au  Grand  Pauvre,"  because  the 
pretty  waitresses  were  there  and  the  adroit  patronne 
had  skilfully  led  him  to  believe  that  he  was  of  all  her 
regular  customers  the  very  flower  and  gem.  What  is 
the  use  of  being  a  comfortable  French  commercial 
matron  if  you  don't  do  that?  His  French  was 
never  a  very  strong  point,  but  he  was  scrupulous  to 


i4  MR.   INGLESIDE 

employ  it  in  these  little  encounters.  Downstairs, 
however,  he  adhered  to  English  —  as  indeed  most  of 
the  male  customers  do,  leaving  French  to  that  sex 
which  automatically  acquires  it.  The  success  of 
many  honeymoons  and  perhaps  a  few  marriages  has 
been  due  to  the  excellent  rule  which  sees  that  the 
daughters  of  England  are  not  wholly  imbecile  on 
continental  railway  platforms. 

Leslie  was  a  young  architect  and  decorator  to 
whom  rich  people  who  bought  old  houses  resorted  in 
their  perplexity.  He  found  bare  walls  and  left  them 
blossoming  like  the  rose.  He  was  accustomed  to 
hear  that  it  absolutely  must  be  done  for  two  hundred 
pounds,  and  equally  accustomed  to  sending  in  his 
account  for  five  hundred  and  getting  it  paid.  On  his 
off  days  he  scoured  the  country  for  Chippendale  and 
old  oak ;  but  himself  lived  in  a  residential  club 
furnished  by  Maple.  It  gave  him  no  pain  to  acquire 
beautiful  things  for  other  people.  He  enjoyed  his 
life  thoroughly ;  his  only  melancholy  thought  was 
embodied  in  the  sombre  Spanish  proverb  which 
comes  home  with  force  to  all  architects  :  "The  house 
is  finished,  and  death  enters." 

At  the  time  this  chronicle  opens,  Leslie,  who  had  a 
poetical  turn  too,  was  preparing  to  be  very  busy  as 
pageant  master  in  Norfolk. 

Dr.  Staminer  and  Richard  Oast  were  widowers. 
The  others  were  like  Sir  John  Dunfern  in  the  immor 
tal  story:  "they  never  yet  had  entertained  the 
thought  of  yielding  up  their  bacheloric  ideas  to  sup- 
place  them  with  others  which  eventually  should 
coincide  with  those  of  a  different  sex." 


CHAPTER  III 

IN  WHICH  WE  CATCH  SIGHT  OF  MATRONS 
IN  THE  MAKING,  AND  FATHER  AND 
DAUGHTER  MEET 

IT  was  a  great  day  at  Millais  House,  for  the 
prizes  were  to  be  given  away  by  the  Bishop, 
and  relations  and  friends  were  to  be  present .  Excite 
ment  naturally  ruled,  mingled,  here  and  there,  with  a 
little  misgiving  among  certain  of  the  girls  —  by  no 
means  unfilial  at  heart  —  as  to  the  presentability  of 
their  parents ;  while  positive  dismay  overtook  one 
or  two  whose  stories  of  home  splendour  had  been  a 
little  too  reckless.  Mabel  Strangeways,  for  example, 
having  built  a  very  splendid  edifice  of  luxury,  com 
prising  a  hunter  of  her  very  own,  on  the  generosity 
and  hospitality  of  a  rich  aunt,  was  feeling  consider 
able  disquietude  as  the  time  drew  near  for  the  public 
display  of  Lieut.-Col.  Strangeways'  too  carefully 
tended  tall  hat  and  Mrs.  Strangeways'  eight-and- 
elevenpenny  boots.  Among  the  other  girls  who  for 
different  reasons  were  hardly  less  delighted  at  the 
prospect  of  this  parade  of  progenitors  was  Sybil 
Aylward,  who,  always  destructive  and  advanced, 
with  the  courage  to  express  most  of  her  thoughts, 
went  so  far  as  to  call  it  indecent. 

There  remained,  however,  as  there  always  will,  no 
matter  how  the  flag  of  progress  may  flap,  a  solid  old- 

15 


16  MR.   INGLESIDE 

fashioned  simple  majority,  whose  hearts  had  borrowed 
fire  from  the  domestic  hearth  and  had  lovingly 
guarded  the  flame,  to  whom  the  thought  of  the  near 
ness  of  their  father  and  mother  brought  nothing  but 
a  throbbing  happiness  that  was  almost  more  than 
they  could  bear.  These  were  for  the  most  part 
members  of  large  families,  accustomed  to  all  the 
usual  frank  jollity  and  give-and-take  of  nursery  and 
playroom  life,  having  minds  automatically  prepared 
by  such  conditions  for  that  tolerance,  that  instinct 
of  honest  civic  compromise,  which  used  to  be  the  most 
valuable  possession  of  the  best  Englishwomen  :  that 
mental  frame  which,  finding  it  so  natural  that  boys 
should  show  unreasonableness  and  temper,  superiority 
and  tyranny,  continues  to  expect  the  same  of  men, 
without  any  corresponding  distaste  for  them. 

Ann  awaited  Mr.  Ingleside's  arrival  with  a  beating 
heart ;  for  although  he  had  never  been  demonstrative 
with  her  or  her  sister,  and  indeed  had  not  disguised 
the  fact  that  he  managed  very  comfortably  without 
them,  her  feeling  for  him  was  warm  and  deep,  and  as 
she  thought  of  him  now,  after  making  his  letter  her 
own,  not  a  little  protective.  Like  most  girls,  she  was 
already  in  character  something  of  a  mother,  and  the 
sudden  invitation  to  share  the  life  in  Buckingham 
Street  had  quickened  the  maternal  instinct ;  so  that 
she  had  already  framed  a  considerable  list  of  guardian 
duties,  and  was  very  happy  in  the  anticipation  of 
exchanging  the  gloss  of  Messrs.  Aldis  Wright  and 
J.  W.  Clark  upon  Cordelia's  simple  devotion  and 
Lear's  outbursts  of  bewilderment  and  rage  (the  task 
of  the  Literature  Class  for  the  past  three  months) 


MR.   INGLESIDE  17 

for  such  practical  filialities  as  sending  her  father  to 
the  barber  at  the  right  time,  tying  his  white  tie,  and 
having  his  slippers  before  the  fire  on  wet  days. 

A  tall  fair  girl  ran  her  arm  round  Ann's  waist  as 
she  stood  by  the  window  waiting  for  the  first  sign  of 
the  guests. 

"Will  he  come,  do  you  think?"  she  asked. 

"He  said  he  would,  and  so  of  course  he  will,  poor 
dear,"  said  Ann.  "But  he'll  hate  it.  He's  such  an 
awful  funk." 

"How  will  he  come,  do  you  think?" 

"  Well,  they'll  all  ride  in  cabs,  and  he'll  either  shoot 
right  out  of  the  station  and  get  here  first,  or  hang 
about  and  get  here  last." 

"But  that's  much  more  noticeable  than  getting 
mixed  up  with  the  cab-loads,"  said  Kathleen. 

"Of  course  it  is.  In  trying  to  avoid  notice  he's 
always  really  attracting  it ;  but  it  doesn't  matter, 
if  that's  his  way.  Besides,  he  hates  talking,  and 
there'll  be  such  a  lot  in  the  cabs." 

Other  girls  had  meanwhile  joined  them,  and  now  a 
solid  little  group  of  fairly  caustic  observers — as  in  the 
mass  all  English  spectators  seem  to  be  —  filled  the 
window's  bow,  prepared  for  the  most  part  to  do  their 
worst  with  the  visitors'  costumes. 

"Look,"  said  Muriel  Vansittart,  "there's  the  first 
carriage,  and  I  say,  what  awful  cheek !  If  old 
Podmore  hasn't  put  my  dear 'General 'in  to  harness  ! " 

"That's  not  'General,'  "  said  another,  scornfully. 

"Not  'General'  !"  replied  Miss  Vansittart. 
"Perhaps  you'll  allow  me  to  know  my  own  rocking- 
horse.  It's  the  only  white  one  Podmore's  got.  With 


i8  MR.   INGLESIDE 

all  this  crowd  coming,  no  wonder  he's  had  to  be 
used." 

"  '  Extras.  Riding  lessons  with  competent  mas 
ters,  four  guineas/  "  quoted  Miss  Aylward.  "  I  think 
your  father  ought  to  have  a  discount  after  this, 
especially  as  there's  every  sign  that  the  competent 
master  is  now  driving  the  second  cab." 

" So  he  is,"  cried  the  others.  "Oh,  what  a  shame  ! 
The  darling  'Consul'  !  "  (The  riding-master  was 
called  alternately  "Consul"  and  "Almost  Human"  ; 
but  not,  I  need  hardly  say,  to  his  honest  if  homely 
face.  When  addressed  thus  openly  he  was  Mr. 
Judd.) 

"I  say,"  exclaimed  Miss  Charteris,  "isn't  that  the 
Bishop's  hat?  I'm  sure  I  can  see  its  rigging." 

"Yes,  yes,  it's  the  Bishop.  'Here  beginneth  the 
first  lesson,'  "  said  Miss  Aylward. 

"Oh,  Sybil,  don't  be  so  naughty,"  said  little 
Winifred  Heather. 

"He  has  beautiful  legs,"  said  Sybil,  as  the  Bishop 
descended  and  helped  out  his  companions,  all  ladies. 
"Almost  they  persuade  me  to  be  a  Christian.  What 
a  lot  the  great  Nonconformist  preachers  lose  by  not 
showing  theirs.  All  they  do  is  to  put  belladonna  in 
their  eyes." 

"Sybil,  dear,  I  can't  stand  it,"  said  Winifred,  quite 
tearfully.  "You  talk  so  dreadfully." 

"Well,  I'll  be  proper,"  said  Sybil,  "but  I  suppose 
the  good  God  made  my  wicked  tongue  as  well  as 
your  pious  ears.  There's  mother  in  the  next  cab. 
What  has  she  got  on  ?  Why  won't  fat  women  learn 
that  stripes  are  the  only  thing  ?  Oh,  Ann  darling, 


MR.  INGLESIDE  19 

do  you  think  I'm  going  to  be  like  that  ?  Girls  don't 
always  grow  like  their  mothers,  do  they  ?  I'll  never 
have  a  proposal  if  we're  seen  together.  Good-bye. 
I'm  going  to  tie  her  bonnet  on  straight  anyway,  and 
try  and  find  her  another  coloured  ribbon." 

The  rest  of  the  girls  remained  in  the  bow  window 
and  continued  to  note  and  criticize  the  arrivals,  the 
party  diminishing  one  by  one  as  relatives  were 
sighted.  When  the  last  carriage  had  disburdened 
itself,  Ann  was  left  alone  ;  but  she  did  not  despair, 
and  was  soon  rewarded  by  the  sight  of  a  grey  hat 
appearing  over  the  hill,  at  which  she  sprang  down 
the  stairs  and  out  of  the  house. 

The  tall,  fragile-looking  man  with  iron-grey  hair 
stopped  as  he  saw  her,  overcome  by  the  beautiful  ur 
gency  of  her  approach.  She  ran  swiftly  and  eagerly 
as  a  girl  in  an  unsophisticated  age  would  have  run  to 
meet  her  lover,  her  face  glad  with  welcome.  "And 
this  is  my  daughter  ! "  he  thought  as  she  approached. 
"Mine.  To  think  she  should  be  so  glad  to  see  me  ! 
And  at  seventeen  too  !"  The  realization  made  him 
happy  —  even  if  it  were  only  an  impulse  on  the  girl's 
part. 

He  held  her  from  him  and  looked  at  her  thought 
fully  and  with  secret  pride. 

"How  well  you  look!"  he  said.  "And  you've 
grown,  too  !  Why  do  you  grow  so,  Tansy?"  he 
added  with  humorous  petulance.  "This  cursed 
growth  !  Why  has  everybody  got  to  grow  ?  Why 
can't  you  be  as  you  were  ?  I  can't  ever  wear  you  on 
my  watch-chain  any  more." 

"No,"  she  said,  "and  you  mustn't  say  ' cursed' 


20  MR.  INGLESIDE 

any  more,  either  —  at  least  not  here.  There's  a 
Bishop  on  the  premises  somewhere." 

" Surely,"  said  he.  "I  know.  The  Right  Rever 
end  Philip  Burmerleigh,  Bishop  of  Ilchester.  Aren't 
we  bosom  friends  ?  Didn't  we  ride  from  London  to 
gether  and  agree  about  the  respective  merits  of 
Pontet  Canet  and  Brane  Cantenac  ?  A  very  sound 
man  —  in  the  cellar  —  and  I  dare  say  that  a  sound 
man  in  the  cellar  is  a  sound  man  out  of  it.  I  hope 
so." 

"He's  going  to  give  away  the  prizes,"  said  Ann. 

"He'll  give  you  yours  beautifully,"  said  her  father. 
"He  overflows  with  milk,  honey,  and  the  best  advice 
that  money  can  buy.  But  tell  me  what  I'm  to  do. 
Where  shall  I  sit  ?  I  would  like,  as  I  said,  to  sit  by 
you,  but  the  prize  spoils  it  all :  you'll  be  bathed  in 
limelight,  and  I  shall  be  included  in  its  beams  as  the 
author  of  the  prodigy.  That's  too  appalling.  Is 
there  no  means  of  being  a  perfect  stranger  and  not 
talking  to  Miss  Ridley?" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Ann.  "You  must  be  good  to-day. 
It  will  soon  be  over.  You  must  be  quite  good  and 
ordinary,  just  like  a  girl's  parent  and  not  at  all  like 
the  interesting  and  spoilt  Mr.  Ingleside.  It  won't 
do  you  any  harm." 

"  My  dear  Ann,  you're  becoming  a  bully.  I  with 
draw  my  invitation  to  you  ;  I  shall  continue  to  live 
all  alone." 

"And  afterwards,  as  a  reward,"  Ann  continued, 
"I  will  let  you  listen  to  Sybil  Aylward,  who  is  really 
much  more  suited  to  be  your  daughter  than  I  am. 
But  now  you  must  be  polite  to  Miss  Ridley." 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  WHICH  AN  INSTRUCTRESS  OF  YOUTH 
HAS  QUALMS 

THE  firm  of  educational  agents  in  Bury  Street 
who  had  Miss  Ridley's  establishment  on  their 
books  always  made  a  point  of  telling  their  clients 
that  she  was  exceedingly  well-connected.  The 
phrase  as  a  rule  involves  a  distant  title  and  a  fairly 
contiguous  church  dignitary  or  M.P.  In  the  case  of 
Miss  Ridley  it  meant  that  her  grandfather  had  been 
Dean  of  Bevan,  and  that  her  younger  sister  had 
married  an  officer  and  gentleman  who  took  a  leading 
part  every  year  in  the  organization  of  the  Military 
Tournament. 

Miss  Ridley  was  forty-six.  She  was  tall  and 
aquiline,  a  perfect  example  of  that  type  of  cultured 
woman  whom  men  do  not  marry  ;  and  also  a  perfect 
example  of  that  type  of  cultured  woman  who  never 
repines  because  she  has  not  been  asked  in  marriage. 
Miss  Ridley  had  her  own  life  to  lead,  and  was  happier 
in  training  the  daughters  of  gentlemen  to  take  their 
place  in  society  quietly  and  efficiently  than  she  could 
ever  have  been  as  any  one  man's  helpmate.  Men, 
assisted  no  doubt  by  the  humour  of  literature  and 
the  stage,  are  too  apt  to  fall  into  the  mistake  of  be- 

21 


22  MR.   INGLESIDE 

lieving  that  every  unmarried  woman  is  pining  away 
in  disappointment  or  chagrin.  It  is  a  state  of  error 
that  is  probably  not  on  the  increase. 

Miss  Ridley  was  a  good  and  sensible  woman  who 
had  come  through  the  perils  of  her  autocracy  more 
satisfactorily  than  many  of  her  fellow  school 
mistresses  and  most  of  her  fellow  school-masters. 
To  escape  injury  altogether  seems  to  be  an  impossi 
bility  ;  but  Miss  Ridley  remained,  if  not  humble,  at 
any  rate  human,  and  although  (thank  Heaven  !) 
she  had  her  foibles,  they  were  very  harmless.  One 
of  her  little  weaknesses  was  the  persuasion  that  she 
understood  exactly  how  all  the  parents  of  her  girls 
liked  to  be  treated,  causing  her  to  make  subtle 
modifications  for  each,  often  quite  mistakenly  and 
very  amusing  to  spectators  on  such  a  day  as  this, 
when  it  was  possible  to  be  the  observer  and  auditor 
of  half  a  dozen  of  her  Protean  efforts  in  as  many  min 
utes.  Not  that  Miss  Ridley  was  insincere :  far 
from  it ;  she  merely  made  a  fetish  of  tact,  and  fancied 
her  efforts  in  that  direction  too  fondly. 

Mr.  Ingleside's  humorous  mouth  and  slightly 
ironical  cast  of  expression  called  up  in  Miss  Ridley 
instantly  a  mood  of  worldly  wisdom  tinged  with 
raillery.  But  her  native  good  sense  was  too  much 
for  her  when  it  came  to  discussing  his  daughter. 

"  Dear  Ann  ! "  she  said.  "  We  shall  all  be  so  sorry 
to  lose  her.  You  bereave  us  so  steadily,  Mr.  Ingle- 
side.  We  are  still  mourning  for  Alison,  you  know. 
Dear  Alison  !  She  has  so  much  feeling,  so  much 
sympathy,  I  am  troubled  for  her  in  the  rough  air  of 
life." 


ME.  INGLESIDE  23 

"But  surely,  Miss  Ridley,  that  is  where  feeling  and 
sympathy  are  wanted ;  and  Alison  is  giving  both 
where  they  are  at  this  moment  particularly  needed 

—  to  her  mother." 

"True,  of  course,  —  poor  Mrs.  Ingleside  !  —  but 
when  one  loves  anyone  —  as  we  all  loved  Alison 

—  one  wants  to  preserve  her  from  disillusion  and 
suffering.    To  love  is  to  wish  to  shelter." 

"Ah  yes,  it  is  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside  ;  "and  I 
too  share  it.  That  is  largely  why  I  am  going  to  take 
Ann.  It  is  all  arranged.  She  is  to  have  this  year 
with  me.  After  that  she  might  go  abroad  and  learn 
some  more  if  it  seemed  the  right  thing." 

"Surely  there  can  be  no  question  .  .  .?"  Miss 
Ridley  exclaimed,  all  her  finishing  instincts  roused. 

"From  one  point  of  view,  none,"  Mr.  Ingleside 
said.  "But  what  of  me?  Suppose  that  I  find  that 
I  want  her,  as  I  find  that  I  want  her  now  ?  There 
is  too  much  talk  about  sacrifice  for  children,  Miss 
Ridley.  I  have  surrendered  my  girls  to  their  in 
structors  too  long.  Here's  Alison  gone  to  the  East 
for  Heaven  knows  how  long,  with  all  kinds  of  love 
sick  exiles  only  too  ready  to  propose  to  her.  And 
in  a  year  or  so  some  young  scoundrel  will  be  mak 
ing  Ann  fall  in  love  with  him,  and  then  both  will 
have  gone  altogether.  Where  do  I  come  in? 
Other  parents  may  like  this  kind  of  life,  but  not  I. 
No ;  I  consider  that  I  have  toiled  long  enough  for 
my  Rachel,  and  we  are  now  going  to  make  our 
home  together." 

"But,  Mr.  Ingleside,"  said  Miss  Ridley,  "I  see  all 
that ;  I  see  your  point  of  view  perfectly ;  but  there 


24  MR.   INGLESIDE 

is  Ann's  too.  Think  of  what  a  child  she  is  :  only 
seventeen/' 

"She  is  grown  up,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "Lots 
of  boys  are  never  men,  but  all  girls  are  women,  and  a 
girl  of  seventeen  is  almost  old.  It  is  time  she  saw 
life.  She  is  coming  home  with  me  now,  to  get  to 
know  me,  and  let  me  get  to  know  her,  and  to  meet 
my  friends." 

Miss  Ridley  said  nothing  for  a  moment. 

"I  know  what  you  are  thinking,"  said  Mr.  Ingle- 
side,  smiling.  "Confess  it:  you  are  thinking  that 
it  is  quite  a  question  whether  I  am  a  fit  companion 
for  Ann  at  all?" 

Miss  Ridley  laughed.  "Oh  no,"  she  said.  "Not 
that." 

"Then  my  friends  .  .  .  ?  Ah,  Miss  Ridley,  make 
no  mistake.  Ann  will  be  in  very  excellent  hands. 
Ann  is  to  be  envied  ..." 

Miss  Ridley  sighed.  In  her  heart  she  knew  it,  and 
she  was  not  alone  among  school-mistresses  in  envy 
ing  a  departing  pupil.  For  her,  the  task  of  continu 
ally  preparing  the  young  for  life  and  bidding  farewell 
to  them  on  the  threshold  of  that  fascinating  mansion  ; 
for  her,  the  brief  one-sided  affection  for  these  young 
things,  doomed  ever  to  be  cut  short  just  as  it  might 
develop  into  a  mutual  feeling.  She  was  like  the 
shipbuilder  who  has  never  himself  put  out  to  sea. 

Miss  Ridley  did  not  encourage  this  vein.  She 
became  practical  in  self-defence.  "Her  languages," 
she  said,  "are  not  at  all  good  ;  her  music  is  sadly 
deficient." 

Mr.  Ingleside  brushed  aside  these  objections. 


MR.  INGLESIDE  25 

"I  will  see  to  it,"  he  said,  "that  her  French  and 
German  do  not  suffer.  She  shall  have  the  run  of  my 
books." 

"Books!"  exclaimed  Miss  Ridley.  "You  will 
choose  them  for  her,  I  trust.  Such  dreadful  licence 
across  the  Channel.  .  .  .  That  thin  yellow  paper. 
.  .  .  .  Dear  Ann  .  .  ." 

"I  will  be  very  careful,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 
"Hector  Malot.  Georges  Ohnet.  Pierre  le  Coule- 
vain.  She  shall  be  kept  English.  She  shall  never 
bring  discredit  on  Millais  House." 

"And  the  music?"  Miss  Ridley  asked,  with  new 
anxiety. 

"You  would  not  have  her  kept  wholly  to  English 
composers,  I  hope?"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 

"Of  course  not,"  Miss  Ridley  replied.  "That 
would  be  too  stunting." 

"And  yet,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "that  dreadful 
Continent !  Is  its  literature  alone  representative  ? 
Does  nothing  characteristic  creep  into  its  music?" 

"I  don'tthink  I  understand,  "Miss  Ridley  faltered. 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "Only 
one  is  a  little  amused  sometimes  to  contrast  the  riot 
of  emotionalism  permitted  to  our  daughters  on  the 
piano  with  the  scrupulous  bloodlessness  of  the  books 
we  pick  for  them." 

"I  must  confess,"  said  Miss  Ridley,  "I  had  never 
thought  of  that ;  but  I  will  do  so  in  future.  Every 
piece  shall  be  played  to  me  by  Herr  Griiber  before  it 
is  given  out.  I  shall  then  be  able  to  detect  any 
too  emotional  tendency.  His  touch  is  wonderful. 
Thank  you,  Mr.  Ingleside.  Quite  a  new  idea." 


26  MR.  INGLESIDE 

Miss  Ridley's  conscience  still  troubled  her.  There 
was  about  Mr.  Ingleside  an  air  of  intellectual  ease, 
if  not  carelessness,  a  suggestion  of  smiling  fatalism 
that  in  any  ordinary  man  would  of  course  be  wholly 
reprehensible,  but  in  the  author  of  the  best  trans 
lation  of  Horace  was  fitting  enough :  yet  was  such 
a  man  the  best  guardian  for  a  girl  like  Ann  ?  Miss 
Ridley  had  in  her  favourite  pupils  much  of  the  pride 
of  the  artist :  they  were  largely  her  own  creation. 
For  the  most  part  they  were  entering  the  ordinary 
life  of  the  well-to-do  girl  between  school  and  mar 
riage  ;  but  Ann  was  different.  Ann  was  going  to 
live  with  this  humorous  semi-Bohemian  gentleman 
free  from  all  the  restrictions  and  watchfulness  that 
should  surround  the  jeune  fille.  Miss  Ridley's 
solicitude  prompted  her  to  protest  a  little  more. 
"Mr.  Ingleside,"  she  said,  "about  this  question  .  .  . 
so  prominent  just  now .  .  .  this,  ah,  suffrage  for 
women  .  .  .  have  you  any  very  strong  views?" 

"What  line  do  you  take  here?"  Mr.  Ingleside 
asked  in  reply. 

"Here,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  we  are  divided,"  said 
Miss  Ridley.  "I  personally  regret  the  movement, 
and  yet  of  course  I  cannot  help  seeing  that  when 
women  earn  their  own  living,  and  are  interested  in 
social  and  political  questions,  they  have  a  right  to 
representation.  My  rates,  you  know  .  .  .  extremely 
heavy.  Quite  seventy  pounds.  .  .  .  And  it  is  of 
course  on  the  face  of  it  illogical  to  give  women  local 
representation  and  deny  them  central  representa 
tion.  .  .  .  After  all,  Parliament,  you  know,  is  only 
a  Town  Council  on  a  larger  scale.  And  yet  ...  I 


MR.  INGLESIDE  27 

do  not  see  myself  sitting  on  doorsteps  all  night  to 
wait  for  a  too  stubborn  statesman  ...  so  unmaid- 
enly,  so  —  so  —  unhygienic.  .  .  .  Cold  stones,  you 
know  .  .  ." 

Mr.  Ingleside  acquiesced. 

"Nor  do  I  care  for  the  idea  of  women  march 
ing  among  crowds  .  .  .  militant  women.  .  .  .  The 
sphere  of  a  woman  is,  I  think,  the  home.  .  .  .  She 
should  radiate  influence.  ...  All  my  teaching  has 
been  to  this  effect,  and  my  girls  have  done  extremely 
well,  some  of  them.  .  .  .  Muriel  Grandforth,  who 
married  the  South  Pole  explorer  only  the  other  day, 
was  here,  you  know.  .  .  .  And  yet  I  should  find  it 
very  hard  to  condemn  an  earnest  woman  Poor 
Law  Guardian,  for  example,  for  wishing  to  have  a 
vote.  .  .  .  But  you  have  not  told  me  your  opinion, 
Mr.  Ingleside." 

"Oh,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "I  am  rather  of  yours. 
I  like  the  old-fashioned  women  best,  but  I  have  every 
sympathy  with  the  new  kind,  when  they  really  mean 
it  and  don't  throw  stones." 

"And  Ann?"  Miss  Ridley  inquired  anxiously. 

"Ann  shall  make  up  her  mind  for  herself,"  said 
Mr.  Ingleside ;  "but  whatever  she  does,  I  shall 
stand  by  her." 

Miss  Ridley  sighed.  "London  .  .  ."  she  mur 
mured. 

Slowly  the  afternoon  wore  on.  First  came  a 
performance  in  perfect  French  —  perfect  in  that  the 
members  of  the  audience  were  given  time  to  under 
stand  it,  which  is  the  great  lack  in  France  —  of  Les 
Femmes  Precieuses,  as  prepared  for  school  use. 


28  MR.   INGLESIDE 

Then  a  pianoforte  solo  by  Miss  Sadie  Macdonald,  a 
little  dark-haired,  olive-skinned  Jewess,  and  a  few 
songs  and  recitations  ;  and  lastly  the  distribution  of 
rewards  by  the  Right  Reverend,  who  was  jocular  and 
earnest  by  turns,  and  always  paternal  and  bland. 
Mr.  Ingleside  smiled  queerly  as  the  Bishop  pro 
nounced  his  fruity  benediction  and  wished  for  all  the 
girls  a  long  and  helpful  life.  He  glanced  along  the 
rows  of  happy  and  excited  young  creatures.  How 
would  time  and  society  deal  with  them,  he  wondered. 
For  how  many  would  their  poor  little  bodies  prove 
too  much — bodies  made  so  carefully  and  consciously 
by  the  Bishop's  awful  Ally  and  Employer.  And 
some  would  die  young,  and  one  or  two  might  be 
mothers  of  notable  men,  but  most  would  merely 
increase  the  suburban  census.  Well ! 


CHAPTER  V 

IN    WHICH   GENTLEMEN'S    PALATES  ARE 
DISCUSSED,  AND  AGE  WINS 

ANN  had  never  lived  in  the  Buckingham  Street 
house ;  she  had  spent  part  of  her  holidays 
there  and  no  more.  But  now  she  was  not  only  to 
live  there,  but  to  be  its  mistress  and  hostess. 
Mistress  at  least  in  name,  for  of  course  it  was  not  to 
be  expected  that  Mrs.  Boody,  after  all  these  years  of 
management,  would  allow  a  chit  of  a  girl  anything 
more  than  an  illusion  of  control. 

Mrs.  Boody  made  her  position  secure  at  once,  like 
a  sensible  woman.  "And  now,  my  dear,"  she  said 
to  Ann  on  the  morning  after  her  return,  "you'll  be 
wanting  to  take  the  thing  into  your  own  hands.  Of 
course  you  will.  Well,  your  pa  likes  his  dinner 
at  quarter  to  eight ;  what  will  you  be  giving  him  ?" 

Ann  had  the  feeling  of  being  against  a  brick  wall. 
"What  about  beef?"  she  asked. 

"Your  pa  doesn't  like  beef,"  said  Mrs.  Boody. 

Ann  saw  light  through  the  bricks  ;  it  came  through 
the  old,  old  loophole.  "Mutton,"  she  suggested 
hopefully. 

"Your  pa  had  mutton  last  evening;  don't  you 
remember?"  said  Mrs.  Boody. 

The  brick  wall  turned  to  iron. 
29 


30  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"Is  there  anything  else  ?"  Ann  asked.  "Oh  yes, 
of  course,  veal." 

"Your  pa  can't  touch  it,"  said  Mrs.  Boody.  "He 
knows  how  it's  prepared ;  though  to  my  mind  to 
object  to  one  kind  of  meat  on  account  of  cruelty  and 
eating  the  others  is  like  straining  at  a  camel  and 
swallowing  a  needle.  Years  ago  —  before  I  met 
Boody  —  I  once  kept  company  with  a  young  man 
who  worked  in  a  slaughter-house.  I  know." 

Ann  shuddered,  and  Mrs.  Boody  turned  to  matters 
less  sanguinary. 

"There's  two  kinds  of  clever  gentlemen,"  she  said 
—  "those  that  will  eat  everything  on  their  plates  as 
quickly  as  possible,  so  as  to  be  done  with  it ;  and 
those  that  are  particular.  Your  pa's  one  of  the  par 
ticular  ones.  If  he  doesn't  like  a  thing,  he  won't 
consider  it  for  a  moment.  No,  my  dear,  to-day's 
duckling  day." 

"Oh,  of  course  :  ducks,"  said  Ann,  "and  chickens. 
How  silly  of  me  !  And  where  do  you  get  them?" 
she  asked. 

"There's  a  nice  shop  in  Jermyn  Street,"  said  Mrs. 
Boody.  "And  the  fishmonger's  there  too.  What 
about  fish?" 

"Are  there  many  kinds  of  fish?"  asked  Ann, 
thinking  of  Miss  Ridley's  brief  repertory.  "At 
school  we  always  had  plaice  or  cod." 

"Don't  get  either  of  those  for  your  pa,  I  beg  of 
you," said  Mrs.  Boody.  "Duckling  being  rich,  what 
I  should  have  got  him  for  to-day  would  be  a  sole. 
Not  a  lemon  sole,  mind,  but  a  real  sole.  Fried 
perfectly  plain.  He's  a  terror  about  fish,  your  pa  is. 


MR.  INGLESIDE  31 

And,  I  implore  you,  never  a  whiting.  Salmon  he 
likes  and  turbot.  I've  known  him  not  turn  at  hali 
but  and  hake.  But  don't  offer  him  whiting  or  cod. 
When  in  doubt,  a  sole." 

The  thought  crossed  Ann's  mind  that  Mrs.  Boody 
had  entirely  forgotten  that  Mr.  Ingleside  would  no 
longer  be  alone.  If  not  precisely  true,  this  was  true 
enough.  Mrs.  Boody  was  one  of  those  excellent 
women  who  were  born  to  feed  men,  to  think  little 
of  women's  needs,  and  to  pick  up  their  own  suste 
nance  as  they  might,  rarely  in  circumstances  of  com 
fort.  May  they  continue  strong  enough  to  resist 
the  new  movement ! 

Ann  sighed.    ' '  There's  still  the  pudding, ' '  she  said. 

"Not  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Boody.  "Let's  take  them 
in  order.  We've  been  wrong  once :  with  the  fish, 
you  know.  We  didn't  get  to  that  till  after  the  meat, 
you  remember :  all  wrong,  my  dear,  all  wrong. 
Before  we  come  to  the  sweet  there's  the  veg." 

"  Veg.  ?  " 

"Vegetables,  my  dear.  Veg.  they're  called  for 
short  in  the  kitchen,  although  for  that  matter  the 
full  word  doesn't  take  so  very  much  time." 

"I'd  forgotten  them,"  said  Ann.  "But  they're 
not  so  difficult,  are  they  ?  Potatoes,  of  course,  and 
something  green." 

"Ah  yes,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Boody.  "Potatoes. 
Right.  But  how  done?"  She  looked  arch  and 
questioning. 

Ann  sank  in  a  chair  in  desperation.  Miss  Ridley's 
idea  of  a  cooked  potato  was  a  boiled  potato.  But  of 
course  this  gourmet  father  of  hers,  this  new  and  ex- 


32  MR.  INGLESIDE 

acting  creature  of  whom  she  had  never  really  thought 
before,  this  Lucullus  of  Buckingham  Street,  would 
want  fancy  tricks.  "What  do  you  think?'7  she 
asked  weakly.  "How  many  ways  are  there  of  doing 
potatoes?" 

"There's  boiling,  peeled,  and  boiling  in  their 
jackets,"  said  Mrs.  Boody,  checking  them  on  her  fat 
fingers.  "There's  fried  in  slices,  and  fried  in  strips. 
There's  saute  and  there's  mashed.  There's  ..." 

"I  like  them  mashed,"  said  Ann. 

"Not  for  your  pa,"  said  Mrs.  Boody,  "and  not 
with  duckling  anyway.  With  cold  beef,  yes ;  but 
not  with  duckling.  Small  new  with  duckling,  and 
green  peas." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  such  things  ?  "  Ann  asked. 

Mrs.  Boody  smiled  the  superior  smile  of  the  initi 
ated.  "Well,  my  dear,"  she  replied,  "it's  partly 
training  as  a  cook,  and  it's  partly  observation. 
Training  as  a  cook  —  I  don't  mean  just  Mrs.  Beeton 
and  that  sort  of  thing,  but  what  you  pick  up  here 
and  there — training  as  a  cook  tells  you  that  potatoes 
should  be  fried  with  one  kind  of  meat,  boiled  with 
another,  and  so  on.  But  that's  only  half  the  battle 
with  a  gentleman  like  your  pa.  Your  pa  can  be 
learned  only  by  being  studied,  and  studied,  I  may 
say,  for  years.  I  know  him,  and  I'll  tell  you  for 
why.  Because  I've  been  his  housekeeper  so  long, 
and  I've  used  my  eyes  and  my  head.  Nothing  but 
experience,  my  dear,  could  do  it." 

Ann  sighed  a  deep  sigh.  "Not  much  chance  for 
me,"  it  said.  But  she  still  persevered.  "The 
pudding?"  she  asked. 


MR.  INGLESIDE  33 

"Ah  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Boody,  sighing  too,  "the 
pudding  !  And  that's  where  we  find  the  real  trouble. 
Your  pa's  a  heart-breaker  over  sweets.  We  get  him 
the  most  beautiful  things  you  ever  dreamed  of,  and 
he  reads  a  book  till  they're  cold,  and  then  says  he 
doesn't  like  them.  If  I  were  a  strong  character,  I 
wouldn't  give  him  sweets  at  all ;  but  then  I'm  so 
weak.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  him  not  having  the 
chance  at  a  souffle  or  some  thing  nice  if  he  were  minded 
to.  Because  you  know  when  he  dines  out  he  eats 
sweets  right  enough  and  likes  them,  and  I  can't  bear 
to  think  of  his  saying  in  some  other  house,  '  Why,  do 
you  have  sweets  ?  How  lucky  you  are  ! '  because 
that's  just  what  he  would  do.  He  says  all  that  comes 
into  his  head  —  so  different  from  you  and  me,  my 
dear.  And  then  what  sort  of  opinion  would  they 
have  of  me  as  a  housekeeper?" 

"And  you  have  to  think  out  these  dreadful  meals 
every  day,  Mrs.  Boody?"  Ann  exclaimed.  "How 
terrible  !  And  how  frightfully  clever  of  you  !  Really, 
I  don't  think  it's  any  use  for  me  to  begin  just  yet,  not 
till  I  have  been  here  for  awhile  and  had  a  chance  to 
see  what  papa  likes.  Please  go  on  doing  it." 

After  a  little  discussion  Mrs.  Boody  consented  to 
do  so  ;  and  having  won  her  little  battle  so  gracefully, 
and  established  so  firmly  the  relative  positions  of 
herself  and  Ann,  she  settled  down  to  talk. 

"I've  done  for  lots  of  gentlemen  in  my  time,"  she 
said,  "but  none  more  of  a  gentleman  than  your  pa, 
my  dear,  although  one  was  an  Honourable.  Think 
of  it,  my  dear,  the  second  son  of  a  peer,  and  took 
Worcester  sauce  with  everything.  What  was  the 


34  MR.  INGLESIDE 

use  of  cooking  for  such  as  that  ?  No  palate  at  all ; 
entirely  gone  :  burnt  up.  And  no  liver  either,  the 
doctor  said.  He  left  Boody  all  his  clothes  ;  but  he 
was  so  thin  that  Boody,  who  was  a  fine  man,  couldn't 
wear  anything  but  the  neckties  and  braces,  and  the 
neckties  were  so  sad-coloured  that  he  gave  them 
away." 

"Where  is  Mr.  Boody  now?"  Ann  inquired. 

"Don't  ask  me,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Boody.  "He 
left  me  ten  years  ago.  He  walked  out  of  the  house 
one  day,  and  I've  never  set  eyes  on  him  since." 

"Perhaps  he  met  with  an  accident,"  Ann  sug 
gested. 

"No,  my  dear,  I  am  afraid  not,"  said  Mrs.  Boody. 
"I  can't  tell  you  everything,  such  a  child  as  you  are  ; 
but  he  didn't  meet  with  an  accident  —  at  least,  not 
the  kind  you  mean  —  and  he  didn't  go  alone.  I've 
got  over  it  now ;  so  much  so  that  when  she  came 
"back,  not  so  long  ago,  I  had  a  cup  of  tea  with  her.  If 
that's  not  forgiveness,  I  don't  know  what  is.  He's 
in  America,  my  dear,  with  another.  A  fine  man  and 
a  kind  man,  but  a  rover.  Ah,  my  dear,  life's  all 
before  you. 

"My  boy  has  gone  too,"  Mrs.  Boody  went  on, 
with  a  sigh.  "It's  three  years  since  I  heard  from 
him.  He's  a  valet  now  somewhere,  but  where, 
I've  no  notion.  My  last  letter  to  him  was  re 
turned." 

"Were  you  very  fond  of  him?"  Ann  asked. 

"He  was  a  dear  little  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Boody, 
"when  he  was  small.  But  he  got  wild.  He  liked 
his  companions  more  than  me.  He  used  to  come 


ME.  INGLESIDE  35 

now  and  then  to  see  me  when  he  was  in  his  first  place. 
I  asked  him  once  how  he  liked  gentlefolks.  '  Mother/ 
he  said,  and  I've  always  remembered  it ;  '  Mother/ 
he  said,  '  they're  just  the  same  as  we  are,  only  they 
change  their  socks  oftener.'  Many's  the  time  I've 
laughed  over  that ;  and  not  so  wrong  neither.  Ah 
well !  it's  hard  to  keep  your  children  anyhow,  but  I 
didn't  think  to  lose  both  husband  and  son  and  have 
them  living.  One  likes  to  be  wanted  more  than 
that." 


CHAPTER  VI 

IN  WHICH  THERE  IS  NOTHING  BUT  TALK 

A  FEW  days  after  Ann  had  settled  down,  Mr. 
Ingleside  called  upon  Mrs.  Campion  in  Buck 
ingham  Gate.  Mrs.  Campion  lived  in  one  of  the 
Georgian  houses  in  that  pleasant  spot,  where  the 
voice  of  the  bugle  is  so  often  heard  and  military 
music  is  such  a  common  occurrence  that  not  even 
the  youngest  housemaid  dashes  to  the  window. 
Mrs.  Campion  and  Mr.  Ingleside  had  long  been 
friends,  but  only  quite  recently  had  she  settled  in 
London,  having  returned,  a  widow,  from  India  dur 
ing  the  previous  year.  Hence,  although  she  was 
acquainted  with  the  peculiarities  of  the  Ingleside 
menage,  she  knew  none  of  the  family  but  himself. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  as  he  sank  into  an  arm 
chair,  "I've  done  it.  She's  here." 

"And  how  do  you  like  it  ?"  Mrs.  Campion  asked. 

"She's  a  dear,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "but  I'm 
bewildered.  What  am  I  to  do  with  her  ?  What  is 
she  to  do  with  herself?  It  would  be  all  right  if 
Alison  were  here  too.  She  has  brought  responsi 
bility  into  the  house." 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Campion.  "That's 
entirely  what  children  are  for,  and  largely  what 
houses  are  for.  If  you  don't  want  responsibility, 
don't  have  either." 

36 


MR.  INGLESIDE  37 

"As  to  the  children,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside, "  I  observe 
many  people  taking  the  maxim  to  heart.  You 
might  go  farther  back,  and  say  don't  marry ;  but 
it  would  be  so  contemptibly  cowardly — and  yet  the 
Perfect  Man  was  a  bachelor.  A  state  that  prohibited 
marriage  until  its  men  were  forty  would  quickly  cease 
to  be.  Fortunately,  the  fear  of  responsibility  is  not 
yet  quite  general." 

"Why  are  you  happy  men  always  so  bitter?" 
Mrs.  Campion  inquired.  "There  was  a  time  when 
one  went  to  miserable  men  for  that  kind  of  thing." 

"Ann  makes  me  envious  too,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 
"It  must  be  so  splendid  and  interesting  to  be  young 
and  see  everything  fresh." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Campion. 

"And  believe  in  everything  too,"  Mr.  Ingleside 
continued.  "That's  what  really  hurts  —  to  have 
lost  belief  in  things.  One  does  not  notice  the  loss  so 
much  until  one  is  brought  in  daily  and  hourly  con 
tact  with  a  clean  young  nature  on  the  threshold." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Campion,  "you  can't  have  it 
both  ways.  You  can't  have  innocence  and  know 
ledge  at  the  same  time.  One  had  much  better  try 
to  be  one's  age,  and  be  sweet  in  it,  than  cry  over 
spilt  years.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  one  ever  really 
was  as  young  as  Ann.  You  at  this  moment  are  as 
near  it  as  anyone  could  be,  just  through  wanting  it 
intelligently. " 

"What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Why,  only  this  :  that  there's  no  point  in  being 
young  unconsciously,  and  the  young  are  necessarily 
young  unconsciously.  The  only  fun  in  being  young 


38  MR.   INGLESIDE 

is  knowing  you  are  young,  and  glorying  in  it  accord 
ingly  ;  and  no  one  ever  did  that.  In  fact,  you  can't 
begin  to  do  it  until  you're  old." 

" That's  metaphysics,"  sighed  Mr.  Ingleside,  "but 
I  see  what  you  mean.  I  must  cease  to  envy.  You're 
right  there.  No  one  really  knows  how  to  live  until 
he  does  that ;  but,  my  dear,  it's  an  awful  thing  to  be 
the  father  of  a  grown-up  daughter — a  Miss." 

"It  wouldn't  be  if  you  weren't  so  spoilt  and  exact 
ing,"  said  Mrs.  Campion.  "If  you'd  learned  to 
take  things  as  they  come,  it  would  be  perfectly 
natural  for  you  to  feel  like  a  father.  But  you  want 
everything  your  way,  instead  of  Nature's  way  or  the 
world's  way." 

"My  dear  lady,"  Mr.  Ingleside  retorted,  stung  by 
the  truth,  "I  am  not  exacting.  All  I  want  is  to  be 
comfortable." 

"Not  at  all ;  all  you  want  is  perfection,  fortified 
by  preferential  treatment  from  every  one.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  it's  only  the  fear  of  losing  that  which 
makes  you  so  terrified  of  growing  old  and  unattrac 
tive." 

Mr.  Ingleside  frowned,  and  Mrs.  Campion  changed 
the  subject. 

"Send  Ann  to  me  soon,  won't  you?"  she  said. 
"I  want  to  study  her." 

"There's  nothing  to  study,"  Mr.  Ingleside  replied. 
"  She's  as  transparent  as  .  .  ." 

"Oh  you  foolish  man!" 

"Oh,  of  course,"  he  retorted,  "you'll  find  poten 
tialities.  Naturally  !  Sex  dormant,  and  all  the  rest 
of  it.  That's  your  line  of  country.  But  they'D 


MR.   INGLESIDE  39 

be  in  your  own  eyes.  That's  your  besetting  sin : 
to  believe  people  are  what  you  want  them  to  be. 
You're  an  incorrigible  romancer.  But  I  tell  you  on 
my  word  of  honour  as  a  father  and  a  C.B.  that 
Ann  is  a  very  ordinary  English  girl,  with  a  warm 
heart  and  a  candid  nature.  I'm  not  sure  I  shall  let 
her  come  and  see  you  at  all.  You're  too  worldly." 

"I?" 

"Yes,  you.  I  don't  mean  you're  a  cynic  :  nothing 
so  healthy.  You're  so  convinced  that  women  were 
born  to  be  married  and  men  born  to  marry  them 
that  you  can't  think  of  anything  else.  Confess  that 
the  first  thing  you  look  at  when  you  meet  a  girl  is 
her  ring  finger." 

"No  harm  in  that." 

"Yes,  there  is,  a  great  deal  of  harm  in  it,  for  my 
daughter." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Campion,  quite  unruffled,  "I'll 
see  her  first.  In  fact,  I  must  see  her.  She  must 
have  some  good  influence  to  counteract  all  the  old 
bachelor  cranks  that  you  gather  round  you.  You 
can't  take  a  girl  away  from  a  healthy  school  and 
mew  her  up  in  rooms  off  the  Strand,  with  a  kind  of 
inverted  mothers'  meeting  always  going  on,  and 
expect  her  to  be  well  and  jolly.  She  must  have  some 
fun  and  some  exercise.  John  will  be  back  from 
Oxford  very  soon,  and  he  shall  take  her  about." 

"John  !"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "John  be  blowed  ! 
I'll  take  her  about." 

"You're  no  good  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Campion. 
"You  get  too  tired,  and  Ann  never  gets  tired.  Con 
fess  it." 


40  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"I -don't  think  she  does,  confound  her  !"  said  her 
father.  "But  John  will  only  fall  in  love  with  her 
and  be  a  nuisance ;  and  I  won't  want  her  to  be 
bothered  that  way  for  a  long  time." 

"John  will  be  all  right,"  said  John's  mother.  "If 
he  does  fall  in  love  with  her,  it  won't  hurt  either  of 
them.  It  will  do  her  no  harm,  and  it  will  improve 
John's  manners." 

"I  must  look  at  him  again  first,"  said  Mr.  Ingle- 
side.  "But  I  may  say  at  once  that  it  does  not 
excite  me  in  the  least  to  have  brought  up  a  daughter 
at,  I  may  say,  great  expense,  in  order  that  she  may, 
by  existing  to  be  flirted  with,  improve  the  deport 
ment  of  other  people's  sons  —  even  yours.  That 
seems  to  me  carrying  altruism  to  a  point  of 
absurdity." 

Mrs.  Campion  laughed.  "Very  good,"  she  said. 
"  'He  was  a  most  sarcastic  man,  this  quiet  Mr. 
Brown.'  But  for  a  fatalist,"  she  added,  "you  are 
very  impatient.  If  it  is  written  that  John's  man 
ners  are  to  be  improved  by  your  second  daughter, 
why  rebel?" 

"Oh,  confound  John's  manners  !"  said  Mr.  Ingle- 
side.  " I'm  tired  of  this.  Seriously,"  he  continued, 
"let  me  tell  you  that  I  am  more  than  ever  convinced 
that  the  whole  business  of  fatherhood  is  a  fraud.  I 
have  never  had  any  real  companionship  with  either 
of  my  girls  yet.  They  began  with  nurses  in  the 
nursery ;  they  went  on  with  school-mistresses  at 
school ;  and  now,  the  minute  I  take  Ann  away  for 
the  one  purpose  of  being  with  her,  you  threaten  me 
with  a  son-in-law.  Really,  I  think  that  fathers  are 


MR.  INGLESIDE  41 

the  most  unselfish  people  in  the  world ;  they're 
nothing  but  Nature's  agents,  and  Nature  is  in 
terested  only  in  the  young." 

"You  were  young  once,"  said  Mrs.  Campion. 
"  You  can't  stand  still." 

"I  suppose  not,"  Mr.  Ingleside  replied.  "That's 
what's  the  matter  with  it.  Life  is  in  such  a  desperate 
hurry.  It  is  terrible  to  be  the  playthings  of  a  Power 
that  seems  to  be  just  as  much  in  love  with  decay  as 
with  vitality.  I  have  heard  preachers  declare  that 
nothing  is  so  wonderful  and  impressive  as  the  growth 
and  perfection  of  that  beautiful  structure,  the  human 
body ;  but  it's  a  professional  lie.  There  is  some 
thing  far  more  wonderful  and  impressive,  and  that 
is  the  wanton,  wasteful  destruction  of  it." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Campion,  "don't  be  too  serious. 
That's  the  best  way  out  of  such  difficulties.  Don't 
look  ahead  so  much.  Take  things  as  they  come. 
And  for  mercy's  sake  don't  talk  to  Ann  like  that  and 
poison  her  young  mind." 

"I  won't,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "But  picking 
words  is  dead  out  of  my  line." 

"Exactly,"  said  Mrs.  Campion.  "Preferential 
treatment  again.  Anyone  else  would  have  been 
taught  better  manners  ;  but  you  —  you're  just  en 
couraged." 

"Who  encourages  me  ?  "  Mr.  Ingleside  demanded. 

"Every  one,"  said  Mrs.  Campion.     "I  for  one." 

He  laughed.  "You  ought  to  have  more  strength 
of  mind,"  he  said. 

"Of  course,"  she  answered,  "but  there  you  have  it. 
That's  the  last  criticism  on  most  men  and  all  women." 


42  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"How  much,"  Mr.  Ingleside  asked,  "ought  I  to 
allow  her  for  dress  ?  " 

"Does  she  like  clothes?" 

"She  looks  very  nice,  I  think." 

"I  should  put  fifty  pounds  into  the  bank  and  give 
her  a  cheque  book  and  say  it  was  to  last  for  six 
months,  and  see  what  happens.  She'll  be  all  the 
better  mother  some  day  for  having  had  the  expe 
rience." 

"  Mother  !  Do  forget  your  desire  for  every  one  to 
be  a  mother." 

"Why  are  you  so  obstinate?"  Mrs.  Campion 
replied.  "You  are  old  enough  and  clever  enough 
and  enough  of  a  father  to  stop  resisting  Nature  like 
this." 

"Very  likely.  But  one  must  be  very  much  more 
in  love  with  this  world  than  I  am  to  wish  more  chil 
dren  to  be  born  into  it." 

"That's  indigestion,"  said  Mrs.  Campion.  "You 
mustn't  talk  like  that.  Take  the  world  as  it  comes, 
and  don't  criticize.  But  you  criticize  everything. 
You'd  criticize  the  literary  style  of  the  codicil  that 
left  you  a  fortune." 

"Yes,  and  you'd  tolerate  everything.  We're 
probably  both  equally  wrong." 

Mr.  Ingleside  drove  back  in  one  of  the  few  re 
maining  hansoms  in  London,  and  having  no  change 
gave  the  driver  a  florin  for  a  shilling  fare.  This  so 
delighted  the  man  —  already  perhaps  a  little  predis 
posed  to  sociability  by  one  of  the  alcoholic  lenitives 
that  London  holds  out  towards  the  superseded  and 
unhappy  on  every  hand  —  that  he  settled  down  to 


MR.  INGLESIDE  43 

conversation  as  steadily  as  though  Buckingham 
Street  were  a  salon;  and  Mr.  Ingleside  allowed  him 
to  go  on,  partly  from  sheer  good-humour  and  a 
certain  pity  for  these  out-moded  Jehus,  and  partly 
from  a  natural  weakness  for  a  character. 

"Lord  love  me,  sir,"  the  driver  said,  with  the 
Londoner's  elision,  "if  every  one  was  like  you,  what 
a  pleasure  cab-driving  would  be.  But  there,  they're 
not.  Only  this  morning  I  had  two  old  ladies  to  drive 
from  the  Grand  Hotel  to  the  Natural  History 
Museum  and  back  again.  They  took  me  for  an 
hour,  and  they  got  back  exactly  to  the  minute.  And 
what  do  you  think  they  gave  me  ?  Half  a  crown." 
f  "But  that's  the  fare,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside :  "one 
hour,  half  a  crown.  They  probably  were  strangers 
to  London,  and  having  seen  it  in  the  regulations, 
thought  it  was  the  proper  amount." 

"  Right  you  are,  sir,"  said  the  cabman.  "I  thought 
something  was  up  on  the  way  back,  and  I  opened 
the  trap-door  and  catched  them  breaking  their  necks 
trying  to  read  the  tariff.  So  I  was  prepared  for  the 
worst.  But  what  part  of  England  do  you  suppose 
people  come  from  that  don't  give  a  cabman  a  penny 
for  himself?" 

He  paused  to  gather  fresh  impetus.  "Do  you 
think  they'd  treat  a  taxi-driver  like  that  ?  Not  arf . 
Look  at  those  shovers  !  They  never  say  a  civil 
word  to  anyone,  but  who  dares  ask  one  of  them  for 
any  change  out  of  a  bob,  even  if  there's  only  eight- 
pence  on  the  clock  ?  Oo  ?  No  one." 

The  driver  leaned  down 'to  bring  his  head  closer  to 
Mr.  Ingleside.  "What  is  it  about  those  shovers," 


44  MR.  INGLESIDE 

he  asked  mysteriously,  "that  makes  them  so  differ 
ent  from  us?  Why  are  people  so  frightened  of 
them?" 

Mr.  Ingleside  murmured  something  about  ma 
chinery,  unknown  forces,  and  so  forth. 

"Yes,  I  dare  say  that's  part  of  it ;  but  do  you 
suppose  if  I  was  to  learn  to  shove,"  said  the  cabman, 
"  anyone  would  be  afraid  of  me  ?  Nar  !  It's  more 
than  that.  Smoke  cigarettes,  too,  all  the  time,  and 
have  more  meals  in  a  day  than  I  get  in  a  week,  and 
pass  on  the  wrong  side.  I  dunno  what  London's 
coming  to." 

The  driver  shook  his  head  tragically. 

"You  don't  mind  me  talking,  I  hope?"  he  said. 
"It  isn't  costing  anything,  you  know — not  like 
talking  to  a  taxi,  what's  going  on  all  the  time  !" 

Mr.  Ingleside  laughed. 

"But  that's  not  all  about  those  two  old  ladies," 
the  driver  resumed.  "  What  do  you  think  they  did  ? 
They  didn't  give  me  the  half-crown  themselves ; 
they  nipped  indoors  and  sent  it  out  by  the  porter. 
There's  lots  of  different  kinds  of  meanness  in  fares  — 
there's  the  fares  what  are  'so  sorry  they  haven't 
got  any  coppers' ;  there's  the  fares  that  think  that 
giving  the  driver  an  old  newspaper  is  enough  to  make 
him  their  slave ;  there's  the  fares  what  pat  your 
horse  and  ask  questions  about  it,  and  then  offer  a 
bare  bob ;  but  of  all  the  mean  tricks,  getting  the 
porter  to  pay  you  is  the  worst.  That's  mean  twice 
over  :  because,  to  begin  with,  it's  mean,  just  mean  ; 
and  secondly,  there's  the  porter's  meanness  too  in 
not  sticking  up  for  the  cabman  and  telling  the  people 


MR.  INGLESIDE  45 

that  the  fare  by  itself 's  not  enough.  That's  what  I 
complain  of.  But  no,  he  just  hands  it  to  me,  and 
says  the  ladies  give  it  him  for  me  for  an  hour's  hire, 
and  grins,  and  off  he  goes  back  to  his  arm-chair  and 
the  Daily  Mail" 

The  cabman  sighed. 

"Fancy  giving  a  man  an  hour's  fare  for  an  hour's 
hire!"  he  concluded.  "England's  breaking  up; 
that's  what  I  say." 

Ann  had  her  fifty  pounds  in  a  nice  new  bank 
almost  opposite  the  top  of  Buckingham  Street, 
where,  considering  that  her  visits  were  wholly  con 
fined  to  extracting  money  and  never  to  depositing 
any  more,  she  was  curiously  popular.  The  clerks 
indeed  competed  for  her,  almost  as  if  they  had  a 
commission  on  her  withdrawals.  "How  will  you 
have  it?"  they  used  to  ask  (and  is  there  a  sweeter 
question?),  and  display  as  they  counted  it  out  the 
minutest  interest  in  the  weather  not  only  of  to-day 
but  of  yesterday  and  to-morrow.  After  all,  it  is 
the  clerks  with  the  shovels  who  are  the  salt  of  the 
earth. 


CHAPTER  VH 

IN  WHICH  A  MATTER-OF-FACT  YOUNG 
WOMAN  STEPS  OUT  TOWARDS  INDE 
PENDENCE 

ANN  was  not  long  in  learning  that  her  father  had 
lived  alone  for  so  long  that  there  was  literally 
nothing  that  she  could  do  for  him  except  be  cheery 
and  listen  well.  She  therefore  turned  her  thoughts 
towards  doing  something  for  herself,  and  was  not 
sorry  when  Mr.  Ingleside  asked  her  one  morning  at 
breakfast  if  she  intended  to  work  for  her  living. 

"Not  that  I  want  any  of  the  money,"  he  said ; 
"but  every  one  should  do  something  and  if  possible 
earn  something.  It  makes  you  independent." 

"I  should  love  to  do  something,"  said  Ann. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "what  can  you  do? 
Can  you  sing  ?  " 

Ann  said  she  couldn't  sing. 

"Can  you  play  the  piano  well  enough  to  be  a 
professional?" 

Ann  laughed. 

"Can  you  act?" 

Ann  couldn't  act  for,  I  believe  she  said,  nuts. 

"Can  you  dance  in  bare  feet?" 

Ann  laughed  again. 

"Can  you  paint?" 

Ann  couldn't  paint  —  also  for  nuts. 

"Do  you  want  to  write?" 
46 


MR.  INGLESIDE  4? 

Ann  didn't  want  to  write. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "you  are  abnormal. 
A  freak.  You  must  make  your  income  by  exhibit 
ing  yourself.  'The  girl  who  doesn't  want  to  write.' 
But,"  he  added,  "that's  the  end.  We  have  ex 
hausted  the  arts.  Now  we  come  to  the  lower  walks 
of  life  open  to  women.  Can  you  trim  hats  ?  " 

Ann  did  not  want  to  trim  hats. 

"Can  you  devise  creations?" 

Ann  didn't  want  to  do  that. 

"Can  you  teach?" 

Ann  shuddered. 

"  Can  you  read  aloud  to  old  ladies  ?  " 

Ann  thought  not. 

' '  You  are  very  limited, ' '  said  her  father.  ' '  I  seem 
to  have  wasted  a  great  deal  of  money  at  Millais 
House.  You  can't  even  drive,  can  you  ?  They  have 
lady  cockers  in  Paris.  It  is  very  clear  that  whatever 
you  decide  to  do  must  be  preceded  by  more  lessons. 
Well,  I  shall  leave  it  to  you  to  look  about  and  tell 
me  what  you  intend  to  try." 

"Father,"  said  Ann  a  few  mornings  later,  "I'm  on 
the  track  of  a  job." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 

"Yes,  listen.  It's  an  advertisement  which  I 
answered." 

"Answered?" 

"Yes.  You  said  every  girl  should  earn  her  own 
living.  Listen  — 

" '  To  LOVERS  OF  DOGS.  A  refined  and  entertaining 
home  is  offered  to  a  lady  who  will  help  in  looking  after 
pedigree  dogs.  XX  Office  of  this  paper.'  " 


48  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "but  what  about 
earning  your  own  living  ?  I  observe  no  reference  to 
salary." 

"But  I  should  be  relieving  you  of  my  board  and 
lodging,"  said  Ann. 

"Have  I  asked  to  be  relieved?"  Mr.  Ingleside 
replied.  "Moreover,  you  came  here  to  keep  me 
company." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Ann,  "and  of  course  I  wouldn't 
leave  you  for  anything.  But  I  knew  you'd  like  me 
to  be  independent  and  answer  the  advertisement. 
It  might  lead  to  something  really  profitable.  I 
might  at  any  rate  learn  something  about  breeding 
dogs,  and  that  is  a  real  business  now,  you  know. 
There  was  a  girl  at  school  whose  mother  dressed 
entirely  on  their  French  poodle's  puppies.  Why 
shouldn't  I  breed  dogs  too  ?" 

"Not  in  Buckingham  Street,  I  hope,"  said  her 
father. 

"Oh,  father,  you're  so  practical ! "  Ann  exclaimed. 
"You  never  want  anything  unexpected  or  unusual." 

Mr.  Ingleside  sighed.  "I  did  once,"  he  said. 
"Don't  forget  that  I'm  a  very  old  man.  Well, 
what  was  the  reply?" 

Ann  informed  him  that  XX  had  answered  that  if 
Miss  Ingleside  would  come  to  Reigate  by  the  10.15 
train  on  Tuesday,  she  would  find  a  varnished  pony- 
cart  at  the  station,  which  would  convey  her  to  the 
refined  and  entertaining  home. 

This  being  Tuesday,  Ann  trotted  up  to  Charing 
Cross  full  of  excitement.  At  Reigate  station  the 
pony-cart  was  duly  waiting,  so  small  as  to  be  much 


MR.   INGLESIDE  49 

more  like  a  mouse-trap,  containing  an  elderly  lady 
with  solid  masses  of  yellow  curls,  and  a  swollen  pug 
beside  her. 

"Miss  Ingleside,  I  presume?''  said  the  lady. 

Ann  acquiesced. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey,"  said  the  lady.  "  It 
is  about  two  miles  from  here.  Jump  in." 

Ann  took  her  so  literally  that  her  impact  nearly 
lifted  the  pony  off  its  feet  as  the  shafts  flew  up  ;  and 
off  they  went. 

"I  hope  you  like  pugs,"  said  the  lady.  "Although 
it  doesn't  really  matter,  as  pugs  are  not  in  our  line. 
Dear  Siegfried  here  is  just  a  pet,  a  comrade.  Aren't 
you,  darling?"  she  added,  addressing  the  pug,  who 
replied  with  an  asthmatic  wheeze  and  a  futile  effort 
to  get  any  movement  into  his  curling  tail.  "We  go 
in,"  Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey  continued,  "for  toy  poms, 
schipperkes,  Pekinese  spaniels,  and  Yorkshire 
terriers.  Major  Bonham-Hervey,  my  husband,  says 
they're  insects  and  not  dogs  at  all,  but  that's  only 
his  wit.  They're  darlings  really,  and  my  sister  and 
I  adore  them." 

They  stopped  at  a  white  gate  in  the  midst  of  a 
shrubbery.  Ann  opened  it  and  followed  the  cart  up 
a  dark  and  damp  drive  with  weeds  luxuriating  all 
over  it,  to  a  small  once  white  house  from  which  the 
cement  was  peeling.  In  a  deck-chair  on  the  top  step 
sat  an  elderly  man  with  a  furiously  red  face  and  a 
bristling  grey  moustache,  reading  a  paper. 

"  Renton,"  said  the  lady,  "  this  is  Miss  Ingleside." 

The  Major  growled  something  which  might  have 
been  "  good-morning,"  and  watched  his  wife  lead 


50  MR.  INGLESIDE 

the  mouse-trap  behind  the  house  in  the  direction 
of  a  raging  medley  of  barking  and  yapping. 

"I  hope  you'll  like  this  place,"  said  the  Major. 
"I  don't.  Do  you  hear  them?  More  like  insects 
than  dogs,  I  call  them.  My  idea  of  a  dog  is  a  blood 
hound  or  a  Great  Dane.  Insects  !" 

"May  I  go  and  see  them?"  Ann  asked. 

"There's  no  one  to  stop  you,"  said  the  Major: 
"but  I  wouldn't  hasten  that  ordeal  if  I  were  you. 
The  swine!" 

"But  why  do  you  keep  them  if  you  so  dislike 
them?"  Ann  asked,  with  the  tactlessness  of  her 
years  and  nature. 

The  Major  grew  purple.  "Because  this  is  a 
damned  ungrateful  country,"  he  said.  "A  parcel 
of  mean  hounds.  Because  its  miserable  half -pay 
has  got  to  be  eked  out  somehow.  That's  why. .  Do 
you  suppose  I'd  live  here  at  all  if  I  could  help  it? 
In  this  wilderness  ?  Not  me.  But  toy  poms  and 
all  the  rest  of  it  are  profitable,  and  my  wife  is  very 
clever  with  them.  Do  you  play  Bridge?" 

The  last  question  came  so  abruptly  and  with  so 
little  relation  to  what  had  preceded  it  that  Ann  was 
incapable  at  once  of  answering. 

"Do  you  play  Bridge?"  the  Major  repeated,  this 
time  far  more  in  the  tone  a  choleric  man  uses  to  his 
wife  than  to  a  total  stranger. 

"No,"  said  Ann,  "I  don't.  I  can  play  picquet, 
though,  and  bezique." 

"Picquet  and  bezique!  No  good  to  me,"  said 
the  Major.  "And  I  told  them  to  put  Bridge  in  the 
advertisement,  too  !  Fools  !  I  never  can  get  any- 


MR.   INGLESIDE  51 

thing  done  as  I  want  it.  Do  you  learn  card  games 
easily  ?"  he  asked. 

''Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  Ann. 

He  brightened  a  little. 

"  There's  nothing  to  do  here  at  night/'  he  ex 
plained. 

In  the  parlour,  where  they  had  lunch,  Ann  noticed 
that  the  carpet  had  patches  of  white  thread  in  many 
places,  and  everything  suggested  a  want  of  money 
and  the  want  of  hope  that  often  goes  with  it.  Every 
time  the  door  opened  fresh  dogs  scampered  in. 
Over  her  tinned  tongue  Ann  learned  what  her  duties 
would  be.  Miss  Anstruther,  Mrs.  Bonham-Her 
vey's  sister,  it  seemed,  who  had  helped  with  the  dogs 
for  some  years  ("Dogs,  did  you  call  them?"  inter 
polated  the  Major,  "I  always  call  them  insects, 
Miss  Ingleside.  My  idea  of  a  dog  is  a  bloodhound 
or  a  Great  Dane"),  Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey's  sister 
was  no  longer  strong  enough  for  the  fatigue  of  trav 
elling  to  the  shows  as  she  used  to  do,  and  it  was 
therefore  necessary  for  a  substitute  to  be  found. 
The  old  way  was  for  Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey  to  stay 
at  home  and  take  charge  of  the  kennels,  while  her 
sister  travelled  about  with  the  exhibits  and  sat  by 
their  cages.  But  her  sister  was  now  compelled  to 
give  it  up. 

Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey's  sister,  who  had  hair  as 
solid  and  yellow  as  Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey's,  but  was 
obviously  older  and  less  robust,  corroborated.  It 
was  the  most  delightful  life,  she  said.  They  were 
such  darlings ;  it  broke  her  heart  to  have  to  stop. 
But  —  here  she  fluttered  and  twittered  a  little  and 


52  MR.  INGLESIDE 

replenished  her  tumbler  from  the  decanter  and  the 
syphon  —  her  heart  was  so  weak.  She  had  such 
constant  sinkings.  She  set  down  her  glass,  and, 
lifting  the  swollen  pug  to  her  lap,  exchanged  an 
affectionate  embrace  with  it.  She  then  kissed  three 
other  dogs  in  turn,  full  on  their  mouths,  as  if  to  em 
phasize  the  perfection  of  the  relationship  between 
them  and  the  household.  Meanwhile,  not  to  be 
outdone,  Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey  presented  Siegfried 
with  scraps  from  the  darker  and  stringier  part  of 
the  tongue. 

"  You  might  have  given  Miss  Ingleside  something 
better  than  this,"  said  the  Major.  "  Miss  Ingleside, 
I  apologize  for  such  a  shabby  meal.  I'm  sure,"  he 
resumed  to  his  wife,  "that  I  saw  the  butcher's  cart 
drive  up  this  morning." 

Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey  threw  Ann  a  glance  in 
tended  at  once  to  deprecate  and  explain  the  un 
reasonableness  of  men,  and  informed  her  husband 
that  it  was  true  that  the  butcher  had  been,  but  it 
was  only  to  bring  some  odds  and  ends  for  Iseult, 
who,  being  about  to  add  a  number  of  valuable 
puppies  to  the  stock-in-trade  of  the  house,  had  been 
ordered  by  the  vet  to  have  nourishing  food.  "  Poor 
Iseult !"  she  added. 

"  Yes,"  said  her  sister,  "  poor  Iseult !  The  sweet 
est  lady-dog  that  ever  drew  breath,  Miss  Ingleside, 
and  the  kindest  of  mothers." 

"Iseult,  I  may  tell  you,  Miss  Ingleside,"  said  the 
Major,  "is  in  my  opinion  the  most  detestable  little 
bitch  that  an  inscrutable  Providence  ever  set  on  four 
legs.  She  is  a  Yorkshire  terrier  by  name,  but  I  call 


MR.  INGLESIDE  53 

her  an  insect.  Nothing  less.  An  insect.  Certainly 
the  word  dog  —  a  good  honest  word  —  if  it  is 
used  with  any  force  or  fitness,  of  a  Great  Dane,  say, 
or  a  bloodhound,  never  ought  to  be  given  to  a  midge 
like  that.  A  midge,  a  mosquito,  a  gnat !  In  short, 
an  insect." 

"My  husband  is  so  funny,"  said  Mrs.  Bonham- 
Hervey.  "  He  will  have  his  joke.  He  always  calls 
our  dogs  insects.  And  it's  all  because  he  won't  take 
any  pains  with  them,  Miss  Ingleside.  A  dog  must 
be  wooed  quite  as  much  as  a  human  being.  But  my 
husband  won't  take  any  pains  with  them  at  all.  He 
expects  them  all  to  love  him  at  sight,  and  if  they 
don't,  he  gets  cross  with  them." 

"I  don't  expect  it,"  said  the  Major,  "and  I  don't 
want  it.  So  far  from  wanting  it,  I  spread  Keating 
on  myself  to  keep  them  away." 

Both  the  ladies  laughed  gaily.  "  Isn't  he  funny  ?  " 
Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey  asked.  "He  doesn't  really 
mean  it,  though.  He's  as  pleased  as  he  can  be  when 
they  have  puppies." 

Possibly  the  recollection  of  the  important  part 
played  by  puppies  in  his  otherwise  too  frugal  life 
affected  the  Major ;  in  any  case,  his  next  remark 
was  more  friendly  to  the  kennel. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "but  what  kind  of  puppies  shall 
we  be  having  soon  with  the  country  in  the  state  that 
this  is  !  Do  you  know,  Miss  Ingleside,  that  every 
day  the  strain  of  Pekinese  spaniels  and  schipperkes, 
and  in  fact  all  foreign  dogs,  —  Borzois  too,  —  is 
deteriorating?" 

Ann  had  no  notion. 


54  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"  It  is  so,"  the  Major  barked  at  her.  "  And  why  ? 
Because  one  of  the  infernal  Governments  under 
which  we  are  so  vilely  oppressed  prohibited  the  im 
portation  of  dogs,  except  with  restrictions  that  are 
unbearably  vexatious  and  expensive.  What  does 
that  mean  ?  " 

Ann  again  had  no  notion. 

"It  means  too  much  inbreeding,"  said  the  Major. 
"Too  much  inbreeding."  He  fixed  Ann  with  his 
dull  glare,  and  his  face  was  like  a  beetroot. 

Ann,  however,  was  lost.  Her  knowledge  of  dogs 
was  of  the  shallowest.  All  that  she  knew  was  that 
she  liked  them  and  they  liked  her. 

The  Major  perceived  her  difficulty,  and  made  a 
gentlemanly  and  tactful  effort  to  enlighten  her.  "  If 
there  are  no  new  dogs  coming  into  England,"  he 
said,  "we  must  go  on  with  the  old  ones,  which 
gradually,  as  they  die  off,  become  fewer.  That 
means  that  the  puppies  have  a  tendency  to  become 
related,  and  too  nearly  related  —  members  of  a  single 
family  that  gets  smaller  and  smaller  and  smaller 
every  year,  and,  as  the  result  of  this  want  of  invigor 
ating  new  blood,  weaker  and  punier  in  character 
and  frame  each  year.  Now  do  you  understand?" 

Ann  was  still  in  a  muddle,  but  her  instinct  told 
her  it  was  time  to  affect  apprehension,  and  this 
she  successfully  did. 

"And  so,"  the  Major  concluded,  "you  may  im 
agine  what  it  will  be  soon.  The  schipperke,  who, 
at  its  best,  is,  I  hold,  an  insect,  will  soon  be  such  a 
midge  that  even  my  wife  and  Miss  Anstruther  here 
will  admit  it." 


MR.  INGLESIDE  55 

"Never!"  the  ladies  laughingly  exclaimed. 
"Never!" 

"Wait  and  see,"  said  the  Major. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey,  after  the 
Major  had  filled  his  pipe  and  left  them, "  do  you  think 
you  would  like  to  join  us?  We  should  treat  you 
just  as  one  of  ourselves  ;  you  would  have  your  own 
room ;  and  travelling  expenses  to  the  shows  would 
of  course  be  paid." 

"There  would  be  no  salary?"  Ann  asked. 

"Oh  no,  we  do  not  want  anyone  that  is  in  need 
of  money.  We  offer  a  home  and  an  absorbingly 
interesting  hobby." 

"I  don't  think  it  would  be  quite  what  I  want," 
said  Ann,  realizing  that  frankness  was  the  best 
policy. 

"And  why  not,  pray?"  Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey 
asked  sharply. 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  be  happy  here,"  said  Ann. 
"I  don't  care  for  the  country,  and  the  dogs  are  not 
the  kind  I  like  best.  I  like  larger  dogs.  And  an 
other  thing  is  the  want  of  salary.  I  have  a  very 
nice  home  as  it  is ;  I  should  not  leave  it  unless  I  was 
earning  something." 

"Think  again,"  said  Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey. 
"You  are  making  a  mistake,  I  am  sure.  I  tell  you 
for  your  good.  I  like  you.  You'd  have  done  well 
with  us.  My  husband  likes  you  —  I  could  see  it  at 
once.  He  is  rarely  so  gay  with  strangers.  Didn't 
you  notice,"  she  said  to  her  sister,  "how  Renton 
took  to  Miss  Ingleside?" 

"Yes,"  said  her  sister,  adding,  "and  it  isn't  as  if 


56  MR.  INGLESIDE 

you  were  always  here.  Think  of  the  pleasant 
travelling  about  and  the  excitements  of  the  shows. 
Very  often  they're  opened  by  Royalty,  you  know ; 
and  the  very  best  people  compete.  Our  little  Sig 
urd,  who's  already  won  eighteen  firsts,  —  darling 
Sigurd  ! "  -  she  picked  up  a  tiny  spaniel  and  crushed 
it  against  her  face  —  "when  we  were  at  Sevenoaks 
had  the  next  cage  to  the  Princess  Schwallenstein's 
pet  pom,  and  she  and  I  became  exceedingly  friendly. 
A  most  delightful  creature.  I  say  again,  as  I  have 
said  before,  that  dog-fancying  can  bring  one  the 
most  charming  acquaintances  in  the  world  —  apart 
altogether  from  profit.  You  remember,  Amy  dear, 
how  nice  the  Duchess  was  when  she  wanted  Iseult 
to  be  her  little  Kitchener's  wee  wine  ?  Could  any 
one  have  been  more  affable  or  more  considerate  ? 
I  assure  you  I  have  always  looked  forward  to  the 
shows  with  the  keenest  anticipation.  I  have  so 
many  friends  there  —  you  would  only  have  to  men 
tion  my  name.  Not  only  among  the  dog-fanciers 
—  oh  dear,  no !  Among  the  cat-fanciers  too. 
There's  Miss  Shunstone  of  Richmond,  who  has  the 
Blue  Persians.  We  have  a  compact  always  to  have 
tea  together  on  the  first  day.  Miss  Shunstone  must 
make  as  much  as  three  hundred  a  year  out  of  her 
stud.  No,  Miss  Ingleside,  you  make  a  great  mis 
take  not  to  join  us.  The  introductions  I  could  give 
you!" 

Ann,  however,  succeeded  at  last  in  convincing  the 
ladies  that  by  no  she  meant  no  ;  and  having  assimi 
lated  this  truth,  their  interest  in  her  vanished. 

"I'm  very  sorry,"   said  Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey, 


MR.   INGLESIDE  57 

"but  this  afternoon  unfortunately  there's  no  one  to 
drive  you  to  the  station.  The  Major  and  I  have 
an  engagement,  and  our  man  is  ill.  The  best  train 
is  at  5.04." 

Ann  met  the  Major  a  little  way  from  the  house. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "are  you  coming  to  live  with 
us?" 

Ann  assured  him  that  she  was  not. 

He  said  he  was  sorry.  "  If  I  had  known  you  were 
going,"  he  said,  "I  would  have  driven  you  in.  If 
you'll  wait  now,  I'll  put  the  pony  in  and  overtake 
you.  I  have  nothing  to  do." 

"Oh  yes,  you  have,"  said  Ann.  "  You're  going 
to  take  Mrs.  Bonham-Hervey  somewhere  to  call." 

"Did  she  say  that?"  said  the  Major,  with  a  sigh. 
"Lord,  what  a  sex!" 

"Well,  I  must  hurry  on,"  said  Ann,  by  no  means 
anxious  to  hear  the  Major  on  his  wife's  foibles. 

She  therefore  walked  briskly  back  to  Reigate, 
happy  in  her  liberty,  and  happy  also,  like  a  good 
daughter,  in  the  knowledge  that  she  had  a  really 
interesting  story  to  tell  at  dinner  that  night.  Who 
would  look  ahead  farther  than  that  ? 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  WHICH  A  GRANDMOTHER  ASKS  QUES 
TIONS  AND  SUPPLIES  ANSWERS 

MR.  INGLESIDE'S  mother  lived  at  Hove; 
which  was  called  Brighton  when  the  late  King 
stayed  there,  but  is  as  distinct  from  Brighton,  in 
fact,  as  A  is  distinct  from  B.  Of  course,  Ann  had 
to  visit  her  grandmother  early  in  the  holidays,  for 
old  Mrs.  Ingleside  had  an  almost  Chinese  respect  for 
progenitor-worship  and  even  exacted  from  her  son  a 
daily  letter,  which,  however  difficult  an  ordeal  to 
ordinary  creatures,  is  no  great  hardship  to  a  Govern 
ment  official.  Mr.  Ingleside  preferred  writing  to 
visiting ;  but  he  occasionally  ran  down  to  dinner 
by  the  five  o'clock  from  Victoria,  and  was  at  home 
again  by  midnight,  having  an  increasing  distaste 
for  sleeping  in  other  people's  houses. 

Although  an  old  lady  of  seventy-seven,  Mrs. 
Ingleside  was  so  active  and  keen  as  to  send  her 
companion  to  bed  thoroughly  tired  out  almost  every 
night :  what  with  walking,  driving,  shopping,  dis 
cussing,  and  reading  aloud.  Mrs.  Ingleside  pos 
sessed  a  landau  in  which,  open  or  closed,  she  drove 
out  each  afternoon  ;  and  it  was  on  these  drives  that 
her  conversational  powers  were  at  their  brightest. 
Why  it  is  that  the  landau  has  no  power  to  tire  some 

58 


MR.  INGLESIDE  59 

people,  and  is  so  deadly  a  foe  to  others,  I  cannot 
explain ;  but  so  it  is.  Mrs.  Ingleside  descended 
from  it  at  tea-time  invigorated  in  mind  and  body : 
her  guests  staggered  to  their  bedrooms  in  a  stupor 
of  fatigue,  of  which,  however,  she  was  unconscious. 

Ann  reached  her  grandmother's  house  in  its  silent 
avenue  just  before  lunch,  and  immediately  after  that 
meal  the  carriage  came  round  from  the  neighbour 
ing  mews,  a  foot- warmer  and  rugs  were  taken  out, 
Mrs.  Ingleside  and  Ann  were  tucked  carefully 
within,  and  Miss  Airey,  the  companion,  returned 
to  the  house  with  a  light  heart,  free  for  once  to  do  as 
she  would  for  two  hours. 

"Now,  tell  me  all  the  news/'  said  Mrs.  Ingleside. 
"How  is  your  dear  father?  It  must  be  ten  days 
since  I  saw  him,  not  since  I  sprained  my  thumb. 
It's  better  now  ;  Dr.  Steele  is  so  clever.  And  your 
mother,  have  you  heard  from  her?  And  dear 
Alison  ?  What  a  long  way  to  go  to  get  health ! 
Much  better  come  and  live  here,  although  I  can't 
say  that  that  would  be  too  comfortable,  perhaps. 
Worthing,  let's  say,  or  Eastbourne,  or  even  Hastings. 
I'm  told  that  Littlehampton  is  bracing.  But 
Bournemouth,  my  dear,  so  relaxing.  No  wonder 
your  mother's  not  strong.  Still,  Japan's  a  very 
long  journey.  And  suppose  it  was  very  rough  ?  I 
don't  know  how  it  would  affect  your  mother,  but  I 
can't  help  feeling  that  dear  Alison  is  a  very  poor 
sailor.  Poor  child,  to  think  of  her  straining  herself 
in  those  terrible  '  roaring  forties/  don't  they  call 
them  ?  As  for  myself,  in  the  days  when  I  used  to 
go  to  the  Continent  with  your  grandfather,  I  kept 


6o  ME.  INGLESIDE 

my  hand  on  the  stewardess's  wrist  all  the  way 
across. 

"But  you're  not  telling  me  anything  about  your 
self.  You  are  going  to  be  father's  housekeeper  now, 
I  suppose ;  but  how  about  the  rest  of  the  day  ? 
Don't  neglect  your  studies,  my  dear,  just  because 
you've  left  school.  Your  music  —  I  hope  you  prac 
tise  every  day.  Two  hours  at  least,  I  believe,  are 
necessary.  And  singing.  You  do  sing,  don't  you  ? 
There  is  nothing  to  my  mind  so  beautiful  as  singing. 
I  remember  hearing  Jenny  Lind.  It  was  wonderful 
—  so  pure  and  so  sweet.  That's  such  a  nice  story  of 
some  one  asking  Jenny  Lind  what  she  was  thinking 
about  at  the  foot  of  the  cross  in  one  of  her  great 
parts,  and  she  saying  so  simply,  'I  think  I  was 
thinking  about  the  trimming  of  my  new  bonnet.' 
That  shows  the  artistic  temperament,  dear.  No 
need  to  tear  oneself  to  rags.  Poor  Jenny  Lind,  I 
think  she  married  some  one  named  Goldsmith. 

"And  Adelaide  Neilson,  I  remember  her  too. 
Poor  girl,  she  drank  some  iced  milk  and  died  from  it. 
Do  be  careful,  my  dear,  about  very  cold  drinks  when 
you  are  hot. 

"I  always  go  to  the  concerts  here.  They  have 
very  good  ones  at"  the  Dome  —  Clara  Butt,  you 
know  —  but  it's  a  long  time  since  I  heard  an  opera 
singer  —  Tetrazzini,  my  dear  —  and  now  that  this 
man  Strauss  is  all  the  rage,  I  don't  know  when  I 
shall  go  again.  Wagner  was  bad  enough,  but  this 
'Elektra'  seems  terrible,  and  the  funny  thing  is  that 
Wagner  is  now  talked  about  as  if  he  were  a  kind  of 
German  Verdi. 


MR.   INGLESIDE  61 

"But  you're  not  telling  me  anything,  my  dear. 
You  keep  up  your  drawing,  of  course.  Don't  let 
that  go.  Such  a  beautiful  pastime,  and  so  useful 
too  in  after  life.  I'm  sure  if  I  had  not  made  sketches 
when  your  grandfather  and  I  were  abroad  I  shouldn't 
have  the  slightest  recollection  of  some  of  the  places 
we  went  to.  But  now  I  have  only  to  turn  to  my 
album  to  recall  in  a  moment  Thun  and  Interlaken, 
Lucerne  and  Milan.  Though  of  course  Milan  is 
easy  to  remember  on  account  of  its  beautiful  cathe 
dral.  So  white,  my  dear. 

"And  that  reminds  me,  what  church  do  you  go  to 
in  London?  Don't  tell  me  you  stay  at  home  like 
your  dear  father.  Why  he  is  so  careless  of  such 
things  I  cannot  understand,  for  I'm  sure  I  brought 
him  up  carefully  enough,  except  perhaps  for  a  little 
laxity  about  the  Athanasian  creed,  which  I  never 
could  enjoy,  and  I'm  sure  never  shall.  Still,  he's  a 
good  man,  and  even  if  he  doesn't  go  to  church  I 
hope  you  do.  The  Abbey  isn't  very  far,  is  it  ?  You 
might  go  there,  but  I  sometimes  wonder  whether 
perhaps  they're  not  a  little  too  clever.  Perhaps  a 
simpler  church  would  be  better  —  St.  Margaret's, 
say ;  but  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  the  St.  Mar 
garet's  preacher  is  at  the  Abbey  too.  Well,  my 
dear,  wherever  you  go  I  hope  it  will  do  you  good. 

"And  all  those  funny  men  that  your  dear  father 
knows,  how  are  they  ?  That  Mr.  Oast  is  in  Parlia 
ment  again,  I  see.  There  are  too  many  Labour 
members,  in  my  opinion.  When  I  was  young, 
Parliament  was  a  place  for  gentlemen ;  but  every 
thing's  changed  now.  What  your  dear  father  can 


62  MR.  INGLESIDE 

see  in  a  Labour  member  to  make  a  friend  of  him,  I 
can't  think  ;  and  it  seems  to  me  unwise  too,  for  if  his 
Government  department  got  to  hear  of  it,  there 
might  be  trouble.  And  the  old  doctor,  how  is  he  ? 
How  much  better  it  would  have  been  to  have  gone 
on  seeing  patients  and  doing  good  than  to  retire  and 
keep  a  kind  of  museum  like  that.  The  world's  full 
enough  of  illness  and  suffering,  Heaven  knows. 
There's  poor  Miss  Airey  can't  get  rid  of  her  neural 
gia,  and  very  likely  an  old  man  like  that  could  help 
her.  The  young  men  are  all  right  for  the  operations 
and  so  forth,  but  when  it  comes  to  old-fashioned 
ailments  or  worry,  give  me  an  old  doctor.  Ex 
perience,  you  know,  my  dear. 

"And  that  idle  artist  man  with  the  funny  name, 
how  is  he  ?  Lord  Ramer,  is  it  ?  No,  Vycount.  I 
can't  imagine  what  his  parents  were  about  to  give 
him  such  a  name  as  that.  I've  heard  some  odd 
names  :  the  poor  women  when  I  was  a  girl  used  to 
call  their  babies  after  the  battles  in  the  Crimean  war, 
Sebastopol  and  so  forth ;  but  Vycount  is  most 
ridiculous.  So  misleading,  my  dear.  I  never  saw 
any  of  his  pictures  or  met  anyone  who  had.  Mark 
my  words,  my  dear,  the  best  pictures  are  painted  by 
the  men  with  the  simplest  names.  Your  grand 
father  had  a  beautiful  portrait  by  Benjamin  West, 
and  what  could  be  better  than  those  noble  sheep  and 
cows  by  Thomas  Sidney  Cooper  ? 

"And  that  nice  quiet  man,  Mr.  Thrace,  I  hope 
he's  quite  well.  From  what  I  know  of  him,  I  like 
him  much  the  best  of  your  dear  father's  friends. 
He  called  here  last  Easter,  when  he  was  on  a  visit  to 


MR.  INGLESIDE  63 

Brighton,  and  brought  me  a  beautiful  bunch  of 
tulips.  I  remember  a  strange  remark  he  made. 
'How  refreshing/  he  said,  'to  find  a  house  with  the 
Standard  in  it.'  The  Standard  —  it  has  been  my 
paper  for  thirty  years,  and  I  want  no  other  ;  and  for 
a  sensible  man,  as  Mr.  Thrace  seems  to  be,  to  say 
that,  shows  what  we're  all  coming  to. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  here  we  are  at  home  again,  and 
I've  had  a  very  delightful  talk  with  you.  It's  so 
seldom  that  anyone  comes  who  can  really  give  me 
the  news  I  want  to  hear.  Miss  Airey  is  an  intelli 
gent  person,  but  she  has  no  real  conversation." 

"  Grandmamma  seems  very  well  just  now,"  said 
Ann  to  the  companion,  when  she  found  her  alone. 

"Never  better,"  said  Miss  Airey,  with  a  sigh. 


CHAPTER  IX 

IN     WHICH     WE     FIND     SOME     ANCIENT 
REMEDIES,  AND  CHRISTIE  LOOKS  BACK 

ALL  Mr.  Ingleside's  friends  were  bibliophiles  in 
a  small  way  :  that  is  to  say,  they  could  no 
more  pass  a  second-hand  book-shop  on  the  run  than 
a  cricketer  can  avoid  pausing  for  a  moment  to  watch 
a  game,  even  if  the  stumps  are  a  tin  and  the  bat  a 
strip  of  packing-case.  Any  little  odd  find  was  in 
variably  displayed  on  the  following  Friday  ;  and  on 
the  evening  that  we  have  now  reached  Ramer  had  a 
trifling  discovery  to  exploit. 

"My  book,"  said  the  artist,  "cost  me  two-pence, 
but  it  carries  with  it  secrets  enough  to  keep  Tne 
in  perpetual  affluence  if  only  I  had  the  necessary 
cheek.  It  is  called  A  Thousand  Notable  Things,  and 
it  contains  certain  cures  for  everything,  and  a  num 
ber  of  miscellaneous  and  useful  counsels  too.  It  is 
both  old  and  curious.  The  doctor  here  would  have 
had  no  chance  if  I  had  set  up  against  him  with  my 
twopenny  book  to  take  the  place  of  his  costly  de 
grees.  Say  you  had  a  sore  throat,  and  you  rang  the 
Staminer  bell.  The  door  (after  a  long  time)  was 
opened,  and  you  were  shown  into  a  stuffy  room  full 
of  the  illustrated  papers  and  Punch.  After  a  while 
the  doctor  consented  to  see  you.  Not  that  he  was 
busy,  but  it  looked  better  to  keep  you  waiting.  And 

64 


MR.  INGLESIDE  65 

then  what  did  he  do  ?  He  wrote  you  a  prescription 
for  an  expensive  and  very  dull  bottle  of  medicine 
which  would  have  made  you  worse,  and  then  he 
robbed  you  of  all  the  money  he  could  get. 

"But  suppose,"  Ramer  went  on,  "you  had  come 
to  me,  what  should  I  have  done  ?  Ah,  I  should  have 
sent  you  away  with  a  delightfully  interesting  task 
before  you  —  to  cure  yourself,  beyond  question,  — 
but  how?  By  catching  swallows.  Why?  Be 
cause  my  book  says  that '  a  plaister  made  of  the  pow 
der  of  burned  swallows  and  of  their  nest,  doth  help 
effectually  the  swelling  of  the  throat  or  quinancy.' 
'But,'  you  would  have  said,  'I  can't  catch  swallows/ 
That's  where  you  touch  the  comprehensiveness  of 
my  knowledge.  ' Can't  you?'  I  should  have  re 
plied,  all  ready  for  you,  '  then  listen  ; '  and  turning 
to  page  1 06  of  my  book,  I  should  have  read  to  you 
as  f olloweth  :  — 

'If  you  will  make  birds  drunk,  that  you  may  catch 
them  with  your  hands,  take  such  meat  as  they  love,  as 
wheat  or  beans,  or  such  like,  and  lay  them  to  steep  in  the 
lees  of  wine,  or  in  the  juice  of  hemlock,  and  sprinkle  the 
same  in  the  place  where  the  birds  use  to  haunt ;  and  if  they 
do  eat  thereof,  straightways  they  will  be  so  giddy,  that  you 
may  take  them  with  your  hands.  I  wrote  this  out  of  an  old 
written  book,  wherein  I  know  many  true  things  were  written.' 

There  you  are." 

"The  odd  thing  to  me,"  said  Dr.  Staminer, 
"about  those  old  medicine  books,  is  how  some  of  the 
remedies  ever  came  to  be  thought  of.  One  can 
understand  that  a  man  who  was  ill  was  always 
ready  to  try  anything  ;  but  how  did  the  author  hit 


66  MR.  INGLESIDE 

on  swallows  ?  To  begin  with,  it  limits  the  cure  to  the 
summer  months ;  and  then,  why  swallows'  nests  ?  " 

"Probably,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "it  was  a  sheer 
effort  of  fancy  on  the  part  of  the  doctor,  who  was  of 
course  largely  a  ju-ju  man.  He  had  to  be  fantastic 
in  order  to  suggest  a  knowledge  that  he  did  not 
possess  and  thus  obtain  influence  and  respect. 
Swallows  are  difficult  to  catch,  and  their  nests  must 
be  very  nasty ;  the  whole  idea  of  making  a  physic 
from  them  was  so  strange  as  in  itself  to  constitute  an 
intention  towards  healing  —  I  mean,  of  course, 
faith-healing.  You  took  the  mixture,  after  much 
difficulty  and  some  excitement,  and  you  were  hyp 
notized  into  believing  yourself  better,  and  conse 
quently  were  better." 

"Then  you  believe  in  faith-healing?"  said  Rich 
ard  Oast. 

"I  certainly  don't  believe  much  in  any  other 
kind,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "But  let's  have  some 
more,  Ramer,"  he  added. 

The  artist  read  several. 

"  For  the  cramp  — 

'The  little  bone  in  the  knee-joint  of  the  hinder  leg  of  a 
hare  doth  presently  help  the  cramp,  if  you  touch  the  grieved 
place  therewith.  Often  proved.' 

"  For  insomnia  — 

'The  soles  of  the  feet  anointed  with  the  fat  of  a  dormouse 
doth  procure  sleep.' 

"  To  get  rid  of  mice  — 

'Put  two  or  more  quick  mice  in  a  long  or  deep  earthen 
pot,  and  set  the  same  nigh  unto  a  fire  made  of  ash- wood ; 


MR.  INGLESIDE  67 

when  the  pot  begins  to  be  hot,  the  mice  therein  will  chirp  or 
make  a  noise,  whereat  all  the  mice  that  are  nigh  them  will 
run  towards  them,  and  so  will  leap  into  the  fire,  as  though 
they  should  come  to  help  their  poor  imprisoned  friends  and 
neighbours.  The  cause  whereof  Mizaldus  ascribes  to  the 
smoke  of  the  ash- wood.' 

"To  baffle  mice  — 

'To  prevent  rats  and  mice  eating  your  cheese.  Take 
hog's  suet,  and  the  brains  of  a  weasel,  mix  them  together, 
and  lay  small  pieces  about  the  room  :  this  will  prevent  their 
coming.' 

"  Prophecy  — 

'If  you  take  an  oak  apple  from  an  oak  tree,  and  in  the 
same  you  shall  find  a  little  worm,  which  if  it  doth  fly  away, 
it  signifies  wars ;  if  it  creepe  it  betokens  scarcity  of  corn ; 
if  it  run  about,  then  it  foreshows  the  plague.  This  is  the 
country  man's  astrology,  which  they  have  long  observed 
for  truth.' 

"  Against  fleas  — 

'  If  you  mark  where  your  right  foot  doth  stand  at  the 
first  time  that  you  do  hear  the  cuckow,  and  then  grave  or 
take  up  the  earth  under  the  same ;  wheresoever  the  same  is 
sprinkled  about,  there  will  no  fleas  breed.  I  know  it  hath 
proved  true.' 

"  To  curb  the  rover  — 

'If  the  ears  of  cats  be  cropped  or  cut  off,  it  will  make 
them  keep  at  home  better,  for  then  the  water  (which  they 
cannot  abide)  will  drop  into  their  ears,  being  open.' 

"  For  the  ague  — 

'Pare  the  nails  of  one  that  hath  the  quartan  ague,  which 
being  put  into  a  linen  cloth,  and  so  tied  about  the  neck  of  a 


68  MB.  INGLESIDE 

quick  eel,  and  the  same  eel  put  into  the  water,  thereby  the 
ague  will  be  driven  away.' 

"  For  teething  babes  — 

'  Young  children,  whose  gums  are  anointed  with  the  brain 
of  a  hare,  do  breed  their  teeth  easily.  And  it  hath  been 
proved  with  the  brain  of  a  coney.' 

"  For  toothache  — 

'This  following  is  a  true  and  proved  medicine  for  the 
tooth  ach.  Take  a  handful  of  ground  ivy,  as  much  of  spear 
mint,  and  as  much  of  salt ;  stamp  them  all  a  little  together, 
then  put  all  the  same  into  a  pint  of  vinegar,  and  seethe  all 
well  over  the  fire  ;  then  strain  it  well,  and  put  the  same  into 
a  close  glassen  vessel  or  bottle ;  and  when  you  will  use  it, 
take  a  spoonful  thereof  and  put  it  into  the  side  of  the  mouth 
that  acheth,  and  hold  down  your  cheek,  that  it  may  descend 
to  the  roots  of  the  aching  teeth,  and  it  will  take  the  ach  and 
pain  away  presently.  This  was  taught  me  by  a  woman  to 
whom  many  resorted  for  help,  who  used  only  this  medicine 
therefor.' 

"  For  cloudy  vision  — 

'If  the  stone  that  is  found  in  the  head  of  a  long  snail  be 
made  in  fine  powder,  and  blown  in  the  eye,  it  puts  quite 
away  all  spots  thereof,  and  it  destroys  the  web  in  the  eye, 
and  any  other  evil  in  the  same.' 

"  A  weapon  for  killing  snakes  — 

'If  you  would  kill  snakes  and  adders,  strike  them  with  a 
large  radish.' 

"I  like  this  best,"  said  Ramer.  "For  a  very 
common  ailment.  'Pain  in  the  stomach.  Put 
thirty  white  peppercorns  in  your  mouth  and  drive 


MR.  INGLESIDE  69 

them  down  with  beer.'     'Drive'  is  a  splendid  word 
there." 

"And  here  is  something  of  a  different  kind," 
Ramer  concluded ;  "almost  the  sketch  for  a  poem 
by  Mr.  Yeats  — 

'  It  is  credibly  reported,  that  whosoever  is  sick,  and  at 
the  point  of  death,  though  they  be  marvellous  old,  lying  or 
being  in  a  certain  place  in  Ireland,  the  same  party  cannot 
die  until  he  or  she  be  removed  out  of  that  place.  And 
many  that  have  been  there,  being  very  old  and  weary  of 
their  lives,  have  earnestly  desired  to  be  removed  from  thence, 
who  as  soon  as  they  have  been  out  of  that  place,  have  died 
presently.  A  very  strange  thing,  if  it  be  true. ' ' 

"Never  mind  that  old  book,"  said  Christie,  who 
had  come  in  as  Ramer  was  reading.  "Do  you 
know,  Ingleside,"  he  asked,  "who  used  to  live  in 
this  house?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.     "No,  I  don't." 

"Well,"  said  Christie,  "I  do." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Leslie,  "that  some  wretched 
outsider  has  sent  in  an  article  on  Buckingham 
Street,  and  you  had  to  read  it." 

"As  it  happens,"  Christie  replied,  "your  beastly 
conjecture  is  right.  But  I  don't  see  that  it  matters. 
The  thing  is,  that  I  do  know,  never  mind  how. 
Anyway  —  sit  tight,  all  of  you  —  this  very  house  we 
are  now  in  was  once  the  home  of  Samuel  Pepys. 
The  last  house  on  the  west  overlooking  the  river : 
that's  this,  you  know,  beyond  a  doubt.  Think  of 
Pepys  writing  his  old  diary  on  this  spot,  night  after 
night.  That's  what  I  call  interesting.  Pepys  must 
have  been  one  of  the  first  tenants,  because  York 


70  MR.   INGLESIDE 

House  stood  all  over  this  ground  until  1675,  with 
'that  gateway  down  there  as  its  entrance  from  the 
river.  The  great  Duke  of  Buckingham  bought  the 
old  York  House,  where  Bacon  was  born,  and  re 
built  it  for  receptions  and  filled  it  with  pictures." 

"Do  you  know,"  Christie  added  impressively, 
reading  from  a  piece  of  paper,  "that  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham  (for  further  particulars  see  The  Three 
Musketeers)  bought  Rubens'  own  collection  to  hang 
here,  just  as  a  Pierpont  Morgan  would  to-day? 
The  whole  thing  in  one  swoop.  Do  you  know  there 
were  nineteen  Titians,  seventeen  Tintorettos,  thir 
teen  Paul  Veroneses,  three  Raphaels,  and  three 
Leonardos  hanging  more  or  less  where  we  are  talking 
now  ?  All  we  have  in  exchange  is  old  Ramer." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Ramer;  "a  living  dog  is 
better  than  a  dead  Leonardo." 

"But  think  of  it,"  said  Christie.  "Isn't  that  a 
splendid  kind  of  ghost  to  dream  about?  I  would 
like  to  be  haunted  by  nineteen  Titians.  Well, 
York  House  was  sold  to  a  syndicate,  and  they  pulled 
it  down  and  built  on  its  site  this  street,  George 
Street,  Villiers  Street,  and  Duke  Street.  That  was 
in  1675  ;  Pepys  moved  in  in  1784.  It  was  called 
York  Buildings  then.  Peter  the  Great  lodged  at 
the  opposite  corner ;  Rousseau  also  lodged  in 
Buckingham  Street,  in  1765,  with  Hume ;  and  here 
they  had  their  famous  row. 

"I  don't  know  when  this  house  we  are  in  was 
rebuilt,"  said  Christie,  "but  among  its  later  tenants 
were  Etty  the  painter  on  the  third  floor,  and  Clark- 
son  Stanfield  on  the  ground  floor.  All  these  facts 


MR.  INGLESIDE  71 

are  about  to  be  published  broadcast,  so  don't  be 
surprised,  Ingleside,  if  you  find  your  rent  raised."  1 

"I  must  get,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "a  portrait  of 
Pepys  at  once  and  have  it  hung  in  a  good  place,  and, 
Christie,  I  count  on  you  for  a  drawing  by  Clarkson 
Stanfield,  whom  I  have  always  admired,  but  hence 
forth  shall  love  too." 

"But  what  price  Etty  ?"  Christie  asked. 

"No,  I  don't  want  an  Etty,"  Mr.  Ingleside  said. 

"You  shall  have  your  Clarkson  Stanfield,"  said 
Christie.  "I  know  where  there  are  three." 

"Genuine?"  asked  Dr.  Staminer. 

"Oh  yes.  They  don't  forge  him,"  said  Christie. 
"There's  not  enough  demand.  It's  David  Coxes 
and  Boning  tons  and  Turners  that  keep  the  factories 
busy." 

1  A  tablet  incorporating  several  of  Christie's  facts  is  now  on 
the  wall. 


CHAPTER  X 

IN  WHICH   AN    IRISH    COMFORTER  GETS 
QUICKLY  TO  WORK 

A  FEW  days  later,  Providence  —  as  is  its  way  if 
you  leave  it  alone  and  refrain  from  worrying 
it  —  seemed  to  have  leanings  towards  a  solution  of 
Ann's  difficulty;  for  Mr.  Ingleside  found  on  his 
table  a  letter  from  his  cousin,  Rachel  Muirhead, 
offering  to  take  Ann  into  her  house  to  teach  her 
gardening.  "  There  is  a  great  future  for  women 
gardeners,"  Miss  Muirhead  wrote,  "and  Ann  will 
have  every  chance  with  me.  It  is  a  business  in 
which  women  really  have  advantages  above  men, 
and  a  business  also  which  must  improve  rather  than 
decline,  for  the  tendency  to  have  at  least  a  pied-a- 
terre  in  the  country  is  on  the  increase,  fostered  by 
the  motor ;  and  even  where  no  real  interest  in 
flowers  exists,  fashion  will  demand  that  it  must  be 
simulated.  Much  as  I  hate  fashion  and  its  decrees 
in  what  is  called  Society,  I  cannot  see  in  the  craze 
for  beautiful  gardens  anything  but  good.  The  life 
also  will  make  Ann  healthy,  and  divert  her  mind 
from  votes  and  such  follies.  A  woman  who  can  say 
that  she  has  made  two  daffodils  grow  where  only 
one  grew  before,  is  doing  more  for  the  country  than 
a  score  of  politicians.  We  have  a  nice  little  spare- 
room  that  is  just  suited  to  Ann ;  and  if  you  leave 

72 


MR.  INGLESIDE  73 

her  to  us,  we  will  make  a  first-rate  gardener  and 
business  woman  of  her." 

Mr.  Ingleside  read  the  letter  aloud.  Then,  "Do 
you  want  to  go  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh  no,"  said  Ann,  quickly.  "Not  at  all.  I 
want  to  be  in  London."  (Miss  Muirhead  lived  in 
Worcestershire.)  "And  gardening  doesn't  attract 
me  a  bit." 

"The  dogs  weren't  in  London,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 

"No,"  said  Ann,  "but  that  was  a  joke.  Yet  after 
all,  puppies  are  far  more  interesting  than  bulbs." 

Ann's  words  only  partially  reassured  her  father, 
but  he  said  nothing  about  it.  All  that  he  said 
was,  "I  think  you  will  have  to  go  on  a  visit,  anyway, 
but  make  it  as  short  as  you  can  ;  and  for  Heaven's 
sake  don't  let  this  gardening  business  get  hold  of 
your  imagination." 

"I  won't,  I  promise,"  Ann  said  ;  "but,  you  dear 
thing,  why  don't  you  forbid  it  and  settle  the  matter 
once  for  all  ?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "I  don't  forbid.  If  I 
had  brought  you  up  properly,  I  might.  Suggestion 
is  as  much  as  I  have  any  right  to.  When  will  you 
go?"  he  added. 

"I  can  go  whenever  you  can  spare  me,"  said  Ann. 

"Then  you'll  never  go,"  replied  her  father.  "The 
best  thing  to  do  is  to  get  it  over  quickly  and  come 
back  and  settle  down  again.  Life  is  so  horribly 
unsettled.  There  is  always  something  going  to 
happen  to-morrow  or  next  week." 

"Of  course,"  said  Ann  ;  "that's  what  makes  it  so 
attractive." 


74  MR.  INGLESIDE 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "at  seventeen;  but 
not  at  fifty.  At  fifty  it  is  to-day  that  we  prize  — 
and  yesterday.  I  believe  I  should  like  to  be  one  of 
those  toads  that  are  discovered  in  the  very  heart  of 
rocks  —  still  alive  after  thousands  of  years.  Until 
the  stupid  pickaxe  discloses  them,  they  must  be  the 
least  unsettled  —  the  most  secure  —  of  sentient 
things." 

Mr.  Ingleside's  cousin  was  known  to  the  world  as 
Miss  Muirhead,  the  owner  of  the  Fairmile  Gardens, 
and  the  author  of  half  a  dozen  books  on  gardening 
which  had  revolutionized  England.  Always  an 
imaginative  gardener,  Miss  Muirhead  had  amused 
herself  some  few  years  before  in  setting  some  of  her 
theories  on  paper  —  in  particular  that  one  which  as 
far  as  possible  denied  the  gardener  an  axe,  her  view 
being  that  the  retention  of  trees  and  other  in 
digenous  features  should  wherever  practicable  be 
sacredly  observed.  She  was,  in  fact,  the  best 
known  foe  of  formal  gardening,  and  her  book  had 
an  immense  influence  in  England,  not  because 
she  was  the  first  to  advocate  this  teaching,  but 
because  she  came  at  the  right  moment.  She  may 
be  said  to  have  sounded  the  knell  of  bedding 
plants. 

What  she  began  as  a  pastime  Miss  Muirhead  con 
tinued  as  a  business.  So  many  readers  of  her  books 
rang  the  bell  of  her  lodge  and  asked  to  be  allowed 
to  peep  at  her  garden  that  she  made  a  new  one 
purely  for  trade  purposes,  and  not  only  sold  plants 
but  became  a  professional  adviser  upon  the  laying 
out  of  grounds. 


MR.  INGLESIDE  75 

With  Miss  Muirhead  lived  Miss  Lingard ;  and 
they  had  thus  lived  together  for  thirty  years.  Both 
were  the  same  age,  sixty-one.  Miss  Muirhead  was 
the  more  practical,  Miss  Lingard  the  more  poetical. 
Miss  Muirhead  called  Miss  Lingard  "A" —  her 
name  was  Adelaide ;  Miss  Lingard  called  Miss 
Muirhead  "Beloved."  "A"  looked  after  the 
house;  " Beloved "  criticized  the  food  and  signed 
the  cheques.  "Beloved"  held  the  reins  when  they 
drove  out  together;  "A"  received  the  happiest 
smiles  of  the  villagers.  "Beloved"  said  "I"  ;  "A" 
said  "we." 

Ann  was  soon  at  home  with  both  of  them,  and 
very  quickly  mastered  their  simple  routine.  Miss 
Muirhead  being  busy  just  then  upon  a  new  garden, 
Ann  was  a  great  deal  with  Miss  Lingard,  and  accom 
panied  her  on  her  rounds  as  a  Lady  Bountiful. 
These  rounds  took  twice  as  long  as  when  Miss  Muir 
head  drove,  for  Miss  Lingard  could  not  bear  to  hurry 
the  ponies.  Also  she  found  it  harder  to  stem  the 
flow  of  the  talking  mothers  in  the  cottages.  Noth 
ing  requires  so  firm  a  hand. 

Outside  Mrs.  Winter's  they  found  Dr.  O'Sullivan, 
and  Ann  was  introduced  to  him  before  he  went  in. 
He  was  a  round,  cheery  Irishman,  the  idol  of  the 
countryside. 

Even  outside  in  the  chaise  Ann  heard  his  greeting. 
"  Good  morning,  mother,  how  are  ye  ?  Pain  ?  Oh, 
there's  plenty  of  that  to  spare  in  the  world.  Ye're 
not  remarkable  for  that !  But  I  wish  ye  rid  of  it ! 
I'll  send  ye  down  a  bottle." 

They  went  on  to  the  cottage  hospital,  where  Miss 


76  MR.  INGLESIDE 

Lingard  and  Ann  accompanied  the  doctor  from  bed 
to  bed.  "Well,  grannie,"  he  said  to  one  very  old 
woman,  "so  Mrs.  Peters"  -who  had  just  died  — 
"has  got  ahead  of  ye  !  Well,  well,  who'd  have  ex 
pected  that  ?  Ye'll  be  outliving  the  lot  of  us  if  ye're 
not  careful." 

To  another  old  woman  whose  hobby  it  was  to  be 
within  five  minutes  of  her  end,  he  said,  "If  I'd  as 
nice  a  nurse  to  do  the  nursing  of  me,  I'd  stop  me 
dying  for  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  her." 

But  his  crowning  effort  was  with  old  Mrs.  Guntle, 
the  arch-grumbler  of  the  place.  "Ye're  worse,  are 
ye  ?  Well,  I'm  wondering  how  Thorley's  Food  for 
Cattle  would  be  suiting  you.  You  know  what  that 
is  ?  Oilcakes.  When  I  was  in  America  there  was  a 
woman  at  the  point  of  death.  Some  one  brought 
her  a  cake,  and  she  ate  it  the  night.  The  morning 
when  I  went  to  see  her  she  was  better.  'How  are 
ye?'  said  I.  'Och,  docthor/  said  she,  'I'm  a  new 
man.'  It  saved  her.  Would  ye  like  to  try?" 

Mrs.  Guntle  in  spite  of  herself  began  to  laugh. 

"There,"  said  the  doctor,  "ye've  cheered  me  up 
powerful.  Ye  wouldn't  believe  it,  but  I  was  that 
miserable  this  morning  —  a  fit  of  the  blues.  But 
ye've  cheered  me  beautiful." 

"No,  no,  /  haven't  cheered  you,  doctor,"  said  Mrs. 
Guntle. 

"Well,  it's  all  the  same,"  said  the  doctor.  "Only 
don't  forget  me  in  your  prayers." 

"An'  how  are  you  this  morning,  Miss  Piper?"  he 
said  at  the  next  bed.  "Dying,  are  ye?  Well,  I 
don't  believe  it,  but  what  if  ye  are?  Heaven's  a 


MR.  INGLESIDE  77 

beautiful  place,  they  tell  me,  and  divil  a  floor  to 
scrub  in  the  whole  building  ! 

"And  now  come  along  out  of  this,"  the  doctor 
said  to  Ann,  when  he  had  looked  at  the  last  patient 
and  paid  the  last  outrageous  compliment  to  the  very 
homely  nurse ;  "this  is  no  place  for  a  fresh  young 
thing  like  you.  Come  and  see  my  roses.  The  best 
in  England." 

And  he  led  the  way  across  the  road  to  his  house 
and  cut  for  each  of  the  ladies  a  bunch  of  the  "ould 
cabbage"  as  he  called  them  —  "still  the  sweetest 
flower  on  God's  earth,  in  spite  of  all  the  florists  in 
England  and  France." 

He  ran  after  them  with  a  spray  of  mignonette. 
"Give  it  to  Miss  Muirhead  with  my  compliments," 
he  said  :  "the  very  rare  reseda  obsoleta  O'Sullivanii. 
She's  too  scientific  for  me,"  he  added  to  Ann,  "so 
I  always  have  a  little  joke  with  her.  And  too 
modern  too.  Won't  look  at  mignonette  in  a  garden 
because  it  falls  into  no  colour  scheme.  Colour 
scheme  be !" 

Ann  laughed,  but  Miss  Lingard  looked  troubled. 
She  could  not  bear  even  the  suggestion  that  Miss 
Muirhead  could  be  wrong. 

"Miss  Ingleside,"  the  doctor  added  impressively, 
"don't  be  a  scientific  gardener.  Be  an  ould-fash- 
ioned  gardener.  Scatther  your  seeds  and  bulbs,  and 
forget  all  about  their  colour.  Stick  to  the  ould 
friends  —  the  sweet-williams  and  the  mignonette. 
And  the  lemon  verbena.  A  garden's  no  garden 
unless  there's  a  leaf  of  lemon  verbena  to  pinch  in  it. 
Yes,  be  jabers,  and  marigolds  !  I  can't  forgive  the 


78  MR.  INGLESIDE 

despots  who  banished  the  marigold.  No,  Miss 
Ingleside,  you'd  better  be  a  lady  docthor  than  one 
of  these  new-fangled  lady  gardeners  —  in  my  opin 
ion.  And  afther  all,  why  not?  You're  young 
enough  to  begin  the  course." 

But  Ann  gave  him  no  encouragement.  "I'm 
thinking  about  it  all,"  she  explained.  "I'm  so 
bewildered :  it's  all  come  at  once,  so  suddenly." 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "bury  your  pretty  nose 
in  that  cabbage  rose,  and  things'll  be  simpler.  I 
wish  ye  good  morning,  ladies,  and  I  hope  we'll 
meet  again,  Miss  Ingleside." 

On  their  return  they  had  to  answer  Miss  Muir- 
head's  minute  questions. 

"How's  Mrs.  Ribby's  leg?" 

"It's  better,  I  think  :  but  she  says  it's  worse." 

"Of  course,"  said  Miss  Muirhead.  "She  wanted 
your  sympathy.  There's  no  fun  when  it's  better. 
'A'  is  so  weak,"  she  added  to  Ann.  "They  can  all 
take  her  in." 

"Has  Tommy  Wilson  begun  to  go  to  school 
again?"  Miss  Muirhead  asked. 

"Yes.    To-day." 

"Is  Barnes  keeping  sober?" 

"Mrs.  Barnes  didn't  say  anything  about  it." 

"Then  he  isn't.     Was  her  eye  bruised  ?" 

"No,  poor  thing." 

"Don't  pity  her  too  much.  There's  many  a 
woman  envies  her  even  those  attentions  from  her 
husband.  In  fact,"  said  Miss  Muirhead,  "don't 
pity  any  of  them  too  much.  There's  a  tendency 
abroad  to  cover  the  poor  with  pity  just  because 


MR.  INGLESIDE  79 

they're  poor,  as  if  money  had  anything  to  do  with 
happiness.  They're  quite  as  happy  as  the  rich,  and 
in  this  village  they're  particularly  lucky  too.  Money 
has  less  to  do  with  happiness  than  health  has  and 
simplicity.  I  wish  some  of  the  gloomy  authors 
would  learn  that." 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN  WHICH  WE  MEET  TWO  OF  MISS 
MUIRHEAD'S  CLIENTS 

ANN  accompanied  her  aunt  to  the  houses  of  one 
or  two  clients  and  was  present  during  the 
visits  of  others,  and  she  was  struck  by  Miss  Muir- 
head's  masterful  way  with  them.  On  her  first  day 
they  drove  over  to  Sir  Felix  Leven's. 

"I  have  only  an  hour,"  Miss  Muirhead  said,  as 
the  great  man  met  her.  "Let  us  get  to  the  gardens 
at  once." 

"But,  my  dear  lady,  we  can't  do  it  in  an  hour," 
said  Sir  Felix. 

"I  can  come  to  my  conclusions  in  an  hour,"  said 
Miss  Muirhead.  "One  sees  these  things  quickly." 

"I  must  say  I  expected  you  to  give  me  more 
attention  than  that,"  Sir  Felix  replied,  "consider- 
ing " 

"  Considering  the  size  of  the  fee  ?  "  said  Miss  Muir 
head.  "But  you  see,  Sir  Felix,  I  don't  charge  for 
time  here  :  I  charge  for  an  experienced  eye.  I  can 
see  in  a  moment  what  can  or  cannot  be  done.  It 
is  when  I  get  home  and  plan  it  out  that  the  time 
you  are  purchasing  will  come  in." 

Sir  Felix  agreed  reluctantly  and  led  the  way  to 
the  garden,  while  Ann  followed  with  his  son,  an  olive- 

80 


MR.  INGLESIDE  81 

hued,  black-haired  Etonian  of  little  less  than  her  own 
age. 

"How  you  must  love  this  place!  It's  so  very 
beautiful,"  Ann  remarked  by  way  of  an  opening. 

"Yes,  rather  decent,  isn't  it?"  he  said;  "but 
we're  here  very  little.  Two  or  three  months  at  the 
most,  and  that  means  I'm  only  here  for  a  few  weeks. 
You  see,  since  the  governor  was  taken  up  by  the 
nobs  he  has  to  do  what  they  do ;  and  this  is  only 
his  summer  place.  He  comes  here  for  Easter  and 
for  week-ends.  At  the  end  of  July  he  takes  a  house 
at  Goodwood,  and  the  next  week  he's  on  his  yacht ; 
then  we  go  to  our  place  in  Scotland,  you  know.  I 
like  that,  because  there's  good  fishing.  And  after 
wards  the  governor  puffs  off  to  Marienbad  to  get  his 
little  tummy  patched  up  and  drink  that  putrid  stuff 
with  all  the  swells.  But  he  likes  it,  bless  his  heart ! 
Gets  up  at  six  o'clock  to  do  it,  with  a  brass  band 
accompaniment,  and  as  pleased  as  Punch  if  one  of 
those  weekly  papers  has  his  mug  in  it.  Poor  old 
governor,  he  doesn't  see  that  the  people  are  all 
laughing  at  his  nose !  And  when  he  comes  back 
there  are  the  big  shoots  here,  and  I  tell  you  our 
pheasants  are  corkers,  like  Christmas  turkeys  — 
they  take  a  lot  of  missing ;  and  then  directly  Christ 
mas  is  over  it's  time  for  Monte,  and  all  the  old  grind 
begins  again.  It  doesn't  interest  me.  I  like  riding 
and  racquets,  and  I  hate  all  this  moving  about ; 
but  the  governor's  let  himself  in  for  it  now,  and  I 
don't  think  he'll  ever  stop.  You  see  he's  so  horribly 
oofy." 

Ann  had  a  feeling  that  she  was  at  a  keyhole; 


82  MR.  INGLESIDE 

but  she  found  no  words  with  which  to  urge  the  boy 
to  stop. 

"The  governor  and  I,"  he  continued,  "hit  it  off  all 
right,  but  I'm  afraid  I'm  a  great  disappointment  to 
him,  and  I  know  he's  a  great  disappointment  to  me. 
I  used  to  look  up  to  him  once,  before  I  knew ;  but 
now  it  makes  me  sick  to  see  him  being  toadied  to  for 
his  money  by  one  set  of  nobs  and  chasing  about  after 
another.  But  it's  my  brother  he  can't  get  on  with. 
My  brother  —  he's  older  than  I  am  —  has  thrown 
himself  in  with  the  Zionists,  you  know,  and  he's 
offended  the  governor  no  end  because  he's  gone  back 
to  the  real  name  of  the  family,  which  is  Levi,  and 
he  puts  it  out  in  full  in  Who's  Who?  —  Henry  Bull 
Levi,  eldest  son  of  Sir  Felix  Leven.  Rather  a  nasty 
one,  isn't  it?" 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  Ann  asked 
him. 

"When  I  leave  Eton  ? "  he  said.  " Oh,  I  am  going 
to  do  all  the  right  things.  I'm  going  to  Sandhurst. 
But  I'd  much  rather  go  to  Texas  and  have  a  ranch." 

If  Miss  Muirhead  was  too  quick  for  Sir  Felix 
Leven,  Mr.  Clarence  Thayer  of  New  York  was  too 
quick  for  her.  A  letter  by  the  first  post  stated  that 
he  would  be  with  her  at  12.30,  and  by  12.45  tne 
interview  was  over,  and  he  was  on  his  way,  in  his  car, 
to  London,  to  catch  a  night  train  to  the  Continent, 
and  thence  to  America  again. 

"Now  see  here,  Miss  Muirhead,"  he  said,  "I've 
bought  a  house  in  Surrey  —  Marltye  Grange.  It's 
a  Toodor  house,  and  I  want  a  Toodor  garden.  I 
don't  mind  what  it  costs,  but  it's  got  to  be  ready  for 


MR.  INGLESIDE  83 

me  when  I  come  back  next  summer.  You've  got  a 
year,  say.  Will  you  do  it?" 

"What  is  the  size?"  Miss  Muirhead  asked. 

"Just  what  you  like  :  what  it  ought  to  be,"  said 
Mr.  Thayer.  "You  can  take  in  as  much  of  the 
surroundings  as  you  want.  It's  all  mine.  I  want  a 
Toodor  garden  of  the  same  size  as  would  go  with 
a  Toodor  house  in  Toodor  times ;  and  I  want  to 
leave  it  to  you.  But  I  don't  want  to  see  a  grass- 
blade  in  it  before  it's  good  and  ready.  Here  are  six 
blank  cheques  already  signed  :  fill  them  up  as  you 
want  them.  Don't  write  to  me.  Just  go  ahead. 
If  there's  any  difficulty,  settle  it  as  if  it  were  your 
own  house.  Is  that  fixed?" 

"I  must  see  it  first,"  said  Miss  Muirhead. 

The  American  uttered  an  exclamation  of  impa 
tience  and  disappointment.  "There!"  he  said. 
"You  Britishers  are  all  alike.  I  make  you  a  sport 
ing  offer,  and  I  expect  a  sporting  return ;  and  you 
say,  'I  must  see  it  first.'  See  it  first!  Why? 
There  it  is,  just  where  it  was  ever  since  it  was  built, 
with  yew  hedges  ten  feet  high  and  a  yard  thick  and 
solid  as  the  great  wall  of  China,  and  a  fish  pond,  and 
all  the  darned  old  things  that  this  country  can  do 
and  every  other  country  would  give  its  ears  for. 
You  know  it  backwards  already  although  you've 
never  been  there.  The  Toodor  model  exact.  And 
yet  you  say,  'I  must  see  it  first.'  Well,  that's  not 
my  way  of  doing  business.  I  came  here,  dead  out 
of  my  way,  because  I  heard  you  were  a  woman  in  a 
thousand  ;  but  it  seems  I've  lost  the  trip.  Good 
bye,  Miss  Muirhead.  I'm  disappointed." 


84  MR.   INGLESIDE 

Miss  Muirhead  laughed.     "I'll  do  it,"  she  said. 

"Bully  1"  saidMr.Thayer.  "Then  that's  settled." 
And  he  sprang  into  his  car  and  was  off  in  a  cloud  of 
dust. 

"Oh,"  said  Ann,  "how  fearfully  exciting  !" 

"Could  you  believe,"  said  Miss  Muirhead,  "that 
there  existed  a  man  who  had  enough  sense  of  what 
was  beautiful  as  to  want  a  Tudor  garden,  and  so 
lacking  in  everything  that  makes  life  interesting  that 
he  declines  to  see  it  in  the  making?" 

"I  suppose  he  hasn't  got  time,"  said  Ann. 

"No,  "said  Miss  Muirhead,  "how  could  he  have  ? 
He's  an  American  financier." 

The  next  day  Ann  returned  to  London.  "You 
are  very  kind,"  she  said  to  Miss  Muirhead,  "but  my 
heart  wouldn't  be  in  gardening  at  all.  I  should  be 
bored  to  distraction  most  of  the  time.  London  for 
me." 

"A  headstrong  modern  girl,"  said  Miss  Muirhead, 
with  a  sigh. 

"But  a  very  nice  one,"  said  Miss  Lingard. 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN  WHICH  WE  VISIT  THE  HIGH-PRIEST 
ESS  OF  A  TEMPLE  OF  ANTIQUITY 

13  ICHARD  OAST  was  very  strong  in  wishing 
1\.  Ann  to  work.  "Of  course,"  he  said,  a  few 
Fridays  later,  "all  girls  should  have  something  to  do  ; 
and  the  busier  our  wives  are  the  better.  Few  women 
and  fewer  men  have  enough  character  to  be  idle. 
The  notion  that  Adam  because  he  was  turned  out  to 
work  was  therefore  cursed  is  the  silliest  fallacy  I 
know.  He  was  well  rid  of  the  place.  The  curse  of 
Eden  was  not  work  but  clothes.  I  should  be  a  happy 
man  if  it  weren't  for  coats  that  didn't  fit.  In  any 
future  incarnation  I  hope  I  may  be  a  spaniel,  and  be 
always  happy  and  dressed  without  dressing." 

"But  what  about  Ann?"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 

"Yes,"  said  Richard  Oast.  "What  about  Ann? 
It's  one  thing  to  applaud  her  for  wanting  to  work, 
and  it's  another  to  find  the  work.  Because  she 
hasn't  the  propulsion  of  necessity.  She  can  look 
about  and  choose ;  and  people  in  that  position,  not 
being  quite  sincere,  rarely  do  anything  important." 

"Ann's  sincere  enough,"  said  her  father. 

"I  should  like  her  to  use  her  hands,"  said  Richard 
Oast.  "What  about  book-binding ? " 

8s 


86  MR.  INGLESIDE 

"I  don't  think  she's  got  any  hands,"  said  Mr. 
Ingleside.  "It  must  be  practical  head  work." 

"Don't  make  her  a  Society  journalist,"  said 
Christie.  "You  should  see  our  fashion  lady  !  It's 
true  she  would  get  her  hats  and  frocks  for  nothing, 
and  face  cream  to  burn,  but  it's  a  knell  of  a  life." 

"I  have  an  idea,"  said  Dr.  Staminer.  "Appren 
tice  her  for  a  year  to  Miss  Ming.  Miss  Ming  is  a 
great  friend  of  mine  —  in  fact,  I  visit  her  shop  every 
day,  and  a  good  half  of  my  things  come  from  her. 
She  knows  her  work,  and  it  is  work  of  a  very  inter 
esting  kind.  Only  nice  people  go  there,  and  Ann, 
even  if  she  did  not  continue  in  the  business,  would 
come  away  at  the  end  of  the  year  with  a  very  re 
markable  store  of  information  on  very  interesting 
subjects." 

"Who  is  Miss  Ming?"  Richard  Oast  inquired. 

"Miss  Ming  has  an  old  curiosity  shop,"  Dr. 
Staminer  explained  ;  and  it  was  arranged  that  he  and 
Mr.  Ingleside  should  meet  there  on  the  morrow. 

Miss  Ming's  shop  was  not  far  from  South  Ken 
sington  Museum,  and  indeed  it  was  rather  like  a 
collection  of  samples  from  that  wonderful  institution. 
The  Museum  carried  out  Miss  Ming's  stock-in-trade 
to  the  highest  power.  Everything  that  she  had  in 
small  numbers  the  Museum  possessed  in  profusion 
and  perfection.  Who,  however,  can  compare  a 
museum  with  a  shop  -r  the  one  so  frigid  and  so  full 
of  the  unattainable,  the  other  so  human  and  pos- 
sessable  ?  Visitors  are  requested  not  to  touch,  says 
the  Museum.  Examine  everything,  said  Miss 
Ming. 


MR.  INGLESIDE  87 

Miss  Ming's  habitues — and  she  had  many — were 
different  enough  in  most  respects,  but  they  had  one 
feeling  in  common,  and  that  was  surprise  that  Miss 
Ming  ever  brought  herself  to  part  with  anything. 
For  she  entertained  towards  her  stock-in-trade  a 
feeling  of  benign  appreciation.  Everything  that 
passed  through  her  hands  was  good  :  her  catholicity 
of  taste  was  without  bounds. 

Where  Miss  Ming  acquired  her  little  bits  (every 
thing  was  a  "bit")  no  one  knew,  for  she  never  left 
her  shop,  and  not  one  of  her  customers  ever  found  her 
dealing  with  a  seller ;  and  yet  there  was  something 
new  every  day.  After  the  Boxer  rising,  Miss  Ming's 
shop  was  a  treasury  of  loot.  Blue  enamel  caught  the 
eye ;  sumptuous  robes ;  hair-pins  made  of  feathers 
from  the  breasts  of  kingfishers  ;  rings  and  bracelets 
of  jade,  green  and  milky ;  gold  and  silver  filigree ; 
opium  pipes ;  miraculous  embroidery.  Where  did 
they  come  from?  No  one  could  say;  but  there 
they  were. 

The  Chinese  interlude  was,  however,  exceptional. 
The  life-blood  of  Miss  Ming's  business  was  the  Eng 
lish  past.  She  looked  back  :  hence  her  popularity 
with  travelling  Americans,  to  whom  the  backward 
glance  can  be  indulged  in  only  on  holidays.  They 
went  to  her  for  such  essentials  as  spinning-wheels 
and  rush-light  holders.  Miss  Ming  always  had  the 
right  things.  When  lustre  was  the  rage,  she  had 
lustre.  When  samplers  were  almost  more  than  Old 
Masters,  she  had  samplers.  When  it  was  fashionable 
to  carry  a  handkerchief  to  the  theatre  in  a  bead  bag 
a  hundred  years  old,  she  had  bead  bags. 


88  MR.   INGLESIDE 

But  artifice  by  no  means  monopolized  her  enthu 
siasms.  She  loved  Nature  too.  She  had  a  cabinet 
full  of  shells,  and  to  watch  her  caressing  a  chambered 
nautilus  was  an  education  in  lyrical  appreciation. 
An  old  maid,  yes;  but  if  you  asked  to  see  some 
Stuart  baby  caps,  her  maternal  ecstasy  as  she  ar 
ranged  the  little  faded  lace  bonnets  over  her  doubled 
hand  would  have  thrilled  Luini.  Miss  Ming,  in 
short,  was  that  rare  and  delightful  thing,  an  enthu 
siast. 

It  was  difficult  to  find  anything  that  she  did  not 
like :  she  may  be  said  to  have  fondled  the  whole 
world.  " Isn't  it  a  darling?"  was  her  commonest 
phrase.  " Isn't  it  a  darling?"  she  would  say  of  a 
netsuke  or  a  crucifix,  an  ivory  and  gold  whist-marker 
or  a  silver  pounce-box,  a  strip  of  Honiton  or  a  Toby 
jug,  an  iridescent  vase  excavated  in  Crete  or  an 
elaborate  watch-clock.  And  she  would  be  right. 
They  were  darlings  —  each  in  its  way :  and  her 
darlings  beyond  question,  because  she  had  made 
them  so.  She  sold  them  because  it  was  her  business, 
but  she  often  took  them  home  first.  She  sold  cheaply 
where  she  bought  cheaply  :  never  was  dealer's  frame 
so  free  from  huckster's  blood. 

It  was  Miss  Ming's  habit  to  sit  in  a  little  parlour 
at  the  back  of  her  shop  and  wait  till  the  customers 
had  had  time  to  glance  about  before  she  came  for 
ward.  From  this  sanctuary  she  greeted  Dr.  Stam- 
iner  and  Mr.  Ingleside  very  cordially,  and  after  the 
doctor  had  sent  his  acquisitive  eye  on  a  swift  roving 
quest  round  the  shelves,  and  Mr.  Ingleside  had 
examined  two  or  three  netsukes  very  attentively 


MR.  INGLESIDE  89 

(" Aren't  they  little  ducks?"  Miss  Ming  inquired), 
they  all  sat  down,  and  Dr.  Staminer  introduced  the 
great  topic. 

But  Miss  Ming  gave  them  no  encouragement. 
"It's  a  nice  enough  business,"  she  said,  "for  an  old 
maid  like  me,  but  young  girls  shouldn't  live  so  much 
in  the  past.  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  a  fresh  nice  girl 
selling  ancient  curiosities  and  fossils  all  day  long.  I 
shouldn't  let  any  girl  of  my  own  —  if  I  had  one  — 
take  it  up,  and  I  shouldn't  care  to  instruct  Miss 
Ingleside  even  if  her  father  begged  me  to.  Old 
curiosities  are  very  well  in  their  way,  but  one  ought 
not  to  begin  with  them.  It's  like  bus-conducting. 
No  one  begins  as  a  bus-conductor  :  he  gets  there." 

"But  you?"  said  the  doctor. 

"Oh,  I,"  said  Miss  Ming,  "I  was  more  or  less 
brought  up  to  it.  .  .  .  I'm  the  exception.  ...  But 
you  don't  suppose  I  would  not  rather  have  children 
than  old  china,  and  house  worries  than  jade  ?  But 
I  haven't,  and  there's  an  end  to  it.  Here  I  am 
instead,  and  I'd  much  rather  be  selling  you  a  dar 
ling  little  piece  of  enamel,  like  this,  than  talking 
about  myself." 

"Wouldn't  you  take  Mr.  Ingleside's  daughter  if 
she  paid  a  premium?"  Dr.  Staminer  asked.  "For 
mornings  only,  mind.  No  afternoon  work." 

"Not  if  she  paid  me  a  thousand  pounds  a  minute," 
said  Miss  Ming.  "I  mean  it.  Not  a  fresh  young 
girl  like  that !  The  idea  !  If  you  brought  her  to  me 
in  ten  years'  time,  and  she  hadn't  found  a  husband, 
I  might ;  but  I'm  not  sure  even  then.  I  couldn't 
bear  a  companion,  and  that's  a  fact.  I  couldn't 


go  ME.  INGLESIDE 

bear  anyone  to  see  me  bargaining  with  the  people 
I  buy  things  from." 

"You're  too  sensitive,"  said  Dr.  Staminer.  "It's 
absurd.  I  don't  know  how  you've  done  things  as 
well  as  you  have  with  an  idiotic  suet-pudding  heart 
like  that !  You  don't  deserve  to  get  on." 

"I  dare  say  I  am  foolish,"  said  Miss  Ming,  "but 
we  must  be  ourselves.  There  was  a  soldier  this  morn 
ing  brought  in — what  do  you  think? — his  Victoria 
Cross.  And  do  you  think  I  could  buy  it  ?  I  couldn't. 
He  was  ready  to  take  a  pound  for  it,  he  said." 

"You  didn't  do  him  any  good  by  that,"  said  Dr. 
Staminer.  "He  merely  went  to  some  one  else  and 
sold  it  for  ten  shillings." 

"I  couldn't  help  it,"  said  Miss  Ming.  "I  simply 
couldn't  do  it.  A  Victoria  Cross — think  of  it !  I 
couldn't  afford  to  be  generous  to  him  by  giving  him 
a  pound  out  of  hand,  and  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to 
trade  in  such  a  reward.  That  will  show  Mr.  Ingle- 
side,"  she  said,  "how  unsuited  I  am  to  teach  his 
daughter  or  anyone  the  true  principles  of  business." 

Dr.  Staminer  took  the  refusal  philosophically.  "I 
don't  think  you're  right,"  he  said  ;  "but  if  you  think 
like  that,  it  comes  to  the  same, thing.  I  am  dis 
appointed,  because  a  year  with  you  would  have 
qualified  Ann  to  catalogue  my  collection,  which  she 
is  totally  unable  to  do  at  present,  and  which  some 
one  will  have  to  do." 

And  so  they  went  off,  but  not  before  Mr.  Ingleside 
had  bought  a  soap-stone  figure  of  one  of  the  Japanese 
gods  of  good  luck,  whose  very  large  bald  head  (Miss 
Ming  told  him)  it  is  the  duty  of  its  owner  to  rub 


MB.  INGLESIDE  91 

gently  on  every  possible  occasion,  that  benefits  may 
follow. 

"Ann  should  make  a  good  start  in  life  with  that, 
whatever  she  does,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside  as  Miss  Ming 
wrapped  it  up. 

"  The  old  darling !"  said  she,  as  she  handed  him 
the  parcel. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IN  WHICH  VARIOUS  PROFESSIONS  THAT 
INVOLVE  NO  LOSS  OF  CASTE  ARE 
DESCRIBED 

IT  was  shortly  after  the  visit  to  Miss  Ming's  that 
Ann  asked  her  father  if  she  might  begin  at  once 
to  learn  shorthand  and  typewriting. 

"  Of  course,"  said  he.  "  It  is  an  excellent  stepping 
stone  to  usefulness.  I  might  learn  to  dictate  to  you 
myself.  I  don't  mind  what  you  do,"  he  exclaimed, 
"so  long  as  I  see  something  of  you  and  you  don't 
have  to  wear  a  blouse.  Of  course,  as  a  humanitarian, 
what  I  should  really  like  for  you  is  a  Post  Office 
appointment,  and  then  I  should  feel  sure  that  in  one 
office  at  any  rate  a  few  men  who  have  the  effront 
ery  to  want  stamps  are  not  dying  of  exposure. 
But  where,"  he  added,  "are  you  going  to  learn?" 

Ann  said  she  had  thought  of  Miss  Beautiman,  and 
Mr.  Ingleside  agreed  at  once,  for  Miss  Beautiman 
was  a  daughter  of  his  father's  family  doctor,  who 
had  performed  what  is  in  England  the  exceedingly 
easy  task  of  bringing  up  his  children  like  lilies  of  the 
field  and  then  dying  insolvent.  The  result  was  that 
the  three  Misses  Beautiman  at  this  moment  were 
earning  their  own  living,  or  what  approximated  to  it, 
in  London,  with  a  courage  and  perseverance  which, 
if  they  were  more  generally  distributed,  would  leave 

92 


MR.  INGLESIDE  93 

those  detached  apostles  of  efficiency,  the  English 
critics  of  England,  without  any  occupation  save  the 
very  distasteful  one  of  improving  themselves. 

Kate  Beautiman  was  clearly  a  tired  woman,  but 
her  will  was  strong,  and  was  fortified  by  the  bitterness 
of  her  recollections  of  the  days  before  fortune,  as  she 
now  knew  it,  had  smiled  upon  her.  She  worked  hard 
from  half-past  nine  till  seven,  and  expected  hard 
work  from  her  assistants,  who  bent,  to  the  number  of 
five,  over  their  machines  all  day.  Miss  Beautiman 
herself  had  practically  given  up  typing,  and  sat  in  a 
little  wooden  compartment  by  the  door  to  receive 
custom  and  control  the  accounts.  She  had  set  out 
with  the  determination  that  her  terms  were  to  be 
cash,  but  her  face  wore  too  many  proofs  that  that 
policy  had  been  defeated.  She  looked  like  a  woman 
who  had  met  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  in 
business  transactions  :  her  prevailing  cynicism  sug 
gested  it ;  her  attitude  even  to  new  clients  suggested 
it.  It  is  extraordinary  how  different  a  business 
man  can  be  in  his  office  in  London  and  in  his  home 
at  Wimbledon. 

The  sisters  occupied  an  upper  part  in  Bloomsbury, 
where  by  dint  of  a  tea-and-tin  diet  they  had  managed 
for  some  years  to  exist,  but  where  now,  thanks  chiefly 
to  the  exertions  of  the  typist  Kate,  the  second  sister, 
they  were  dwelling  in  comparative  luxury.  For  Miss 
Kate  Beautiman,  after  eight  years  of  struggling,  had 
accumulated  a  sufficient  number  of  clients  to  bring  in 
a  clear  profit  of  £150  a  year,  with  anaemia  thrown  in. 
Of  the  others,  Miss  Ellen,  the  younger,  copied  pic 
tures  in  the  National  Gallery  every  Thursday  and 


94  MR.  INGLESIDE 

Friday,  and  Miss  Sarah,  the  elder,  did  research  work 
in  the  Reading-Room  of  the  British  Museum.  They 
both  shared  their  sister  Kate's  unswerving  determi 
nation,  but  they  were  cheerier  souls  than  she. 
Typing  for  gentlemen  is,  it  seems,  a  more  dulling 
occupation  even  than  that  of  copying  sermons  for  the 
needy  or  penurious  clergy.  Miss  Sarah,  at  any  rate, 
retained  a  certain  respect  for  humanity  at  large, 
whereas  Miss  Kate,  while  associating  little  enough 
with  her  own  sex,  had  come  to  look  with  positive 
disgust  upon  the  other.  Miss  Sarah  still  cherished 
in  some  neat  corner  of  her  gentle  heart  the  possibility 
that  she  might  yet  find  an  admirer  :  she  was  only 
forty-seven ;  but  Miss  Kate's  every  gesture,  every 
expression,  her  clothes,  her  umbrella,  her  footstep, 
said  as  plain  as  plain  could  be,  "Hands  off." 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  Miss  Sarah  replied  to  Ann's 
remark  that  she  must  get  tired  of  copying  at  the 
British  Museum,  "I  do  get  tired.  Very  tired.  But 
it  doesn't  do  to  think  about  it.  The  only  way  is  to 
keep  going  on.  But  the  air's  terrible,  and  the  people 
I  sit  between  !  You  wouldn't  believe.  Of  course 
they're  always  changing,  but  just  now  on  one  side 
of  me  there's  a  Scotch  poet  who  asks  my  opinion  of 
all  his  verses,  and  on  the  other  a  negro  from  San 
Domingo  who  sits  surrounded  by  the  complete  works 
of  John  Stuart  Mill.  What  negroes  want  with  Mill 
I  can't  imagine,  but  I've  noticed  that  the  blacker 
a  reader  is  the  stiffer  are  the  books  he  reads.  You 
should  see  them  contorting  over  Herbert  Spencer  ! 
Last  week  I  sat  between  a  Pole  and  a  monk, 
and  a  little  while  ago  there  was  a  simple-lifer  with 


MR.  INGLESIDE  95 

nothing  on  but  a  blanket,  and  hair  down  his 
back." 

"And  what  do  they  all  do  ?  "  asked  Ann. 

"They're  all  busy  writing  books,"  said  Miss  Sarah. 
"Every  one  in  the  Museum  is  writing  a  book,  even 
the  officials.  You'd  have  thought  that  they'd  seen 
books  enough :  but  no.  If  they'd  all  stop  making 
new  ones,  and  turn  their  minds  to  indexing  the  old 
ones,  there'd  be  something  in  it.  But  that  would 
be  too  useful.  Take  my  present  employer,  for 
example.  Just  now,  what  do  you  think  I'm  doing  ? 
I'm  collecting  materials  for  a  book  about  every  one 
of  importance  called  Graham.  My  employer  is  a 
rich  old  gentleman  in  Wigan  whose  name  is  Graham, 
and  he  wants  to  celebrate  the  tribe.  It  isn't  as  if  it 
was  Graham  only  :  I  have  to  hunt  also  for  Grahames 
and  Graemes  and  Grams  and  Grayhams,  and  pack 
off  the  results  every  evening  by  post.  I  get  quite 
a  start  if  I  see  Graham  over  a  shop  now,  it's  so  on  my 
mind.  I  believe  if  I  was  introduced  to  anyone 
named  Graham  I  should  have  hysterics." 

Miss  Ellen,  the  youngest — she  was  forty-one  — 
had  of  course  the  best  time.  To  begin  with,  she  had 
the  happy  artistic  temperament,  and  being  the  child 
of  the  family  was  licensed  to  possess  a  bad  memory 
and  a  vaguer  sense  of  economy  than  her  more  re 
sponsible  sisters,  whose  privilege  and  misfortune  it 
was  to  come  into  the  world  before  her. 

"I  like  my  work,"  she  said,  "but  sometimes  we 
have  very  bad  seasons.  Just  now  I'm  busy.  I'm 
doing  Reynolds'  'Angels'  Heads'  for  an  American 
lady  who  thinks  it  one  of  the  cutest  things  she  ever 


96  MR.  INGLESIDE 

saw.  What  I  don't  like  is  having  to  keep  on  copy 
ing  the  same  picture.  I  suppose  I  must  have  copied 
Andrea  del  Sarto's  'Holy  Family'  ten  times.  Once 
I  had  to  do  it  full  size  for  an  altarpiece  for  a  church  in 
Torquay ;  but  when  it  was  done  I  couldn't  get  the 
money,  and  so  it  was  sold  to  a  lady  from  Great 
Malvern  to  raffle  at  a  bazaar. 

"People  who  want  pictures  are  very  trying,"  Miss 
Ellen  continued.  ' '  They  change  their  minds  of  tener 
than  any  other  kind.  I'm  afraid  I  really  have  to 
insist  now  upon  half  the  money  on  account.  The 
Americans,  for  example,  they  mean  all  right,  I've  no 
doubt,  but  they  go  back  to  America  and  forget  all 
about  their  commissions,  or  else  they  buy  a  coloured 
reproduction  in  a  shop,  and  think  I  can  easily  find 
another  purchaser  for  my  hand-made  copy.  They're 
awfully  particular  about  real  hand-made  work,  some 
of  them.  *  You're  certain  it's  hand-done,'  they  say. 
Why,  that's  all  I  can  do.  If  I  could  sit  at  a 
machine  like  Kate  and  manifold  copies  of  Holy 
Families,  don't  you  suppose  I  should?" 

Ann  became  Miss  Kate's  pupil  for  a  small  con 
sideration,  and  breathed  over  a  machine  every  morn 
ing,  painfully  forcing  her  fingers  to  obey  the  alphabet, 
while  at  odd  times  she  packed  her  head  with  gram- 
malogues.  She  was  the  only  unpaid  worker.  The 
other  assistants  were  there  in  deadly  earnest, 
because  they  or  their  parents  needed  the  money. 
What  girl  would  translate  human  handwriting  into 
type  for  nine  hours  a  day  if  she  could  help  it  ?  (My 
handwriting,  for  example,  or  yours  ?)  Miss  Beauti- 
man's  girls  were  all  pale  and  round-shouldered  and 


MR.  INGLESIDE  97 

joyless.  They  could  get  excited,  and  often  did, — 
over  a  fashion  plate,  for  the  most  part,  or  a  recital  of 
domestic  disturbances,  or  the  melodrama  at  the  local 
theatre,  — but  they  had  no  joy,  no  sparkle.  Nor  did 
any  of  them  seem  to  be  engaged  :  no  young  man 
waited  for  them  in  the  evenings.  To  Ann,  who  had 
thought  vaguely  of  all  shop-girls  —  and  therefore 
office-girls — having  their  young  men,  this  was  a 
surprise.  She  learned  it  from  Miss  Moth,  the  only 
one  who  was  readily  friendly  and  sympathetic — Ann 
herself  having  probably  made  free  intercourse  with 
the  others  rather  difficult  by  hesitating  lest  she 
should  seem  patronizing.  She  had  nothing  but 
friendliness  for  them,  and  no  consciousness  of  any 
but  the  accidental  superiority  of  easier  circumstances  ; 
but  she  made  the  mistake  of  thinking  herself  into 
these  others.  Hence  it  was  that  Miss  Moth  was 
the  only  one  with  whom  she  talked  at  all  naturally, 
and  on  two  or  three  occasions  when  she  stood  Miss 
Moth  a  lunch  with  some  fresh  meat  in  it  —  as  a 
change  from  her  scones  and  half -pork  pies  and  boiled 
eggs — she  had  learned  not  only  the  history  of  her 
guest  but  the  others  too. 

"They're  all  as  poor  as  they  can  be,"  Miss  Moth 
said,  "only  they  have  a  little  more  independence 
than  ordinary  girls,  and  therefore  prefer  this  to 
being  in  a  shop.  And  some  of  them  are  plainer,  too, 
than  the  shop-people  like." 

"And  they're  none  of  them  engaged?" 
"No,"  said  Miss  Moth,  "we're  none  of  us  engaged." 
"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Ann,  noticing  the  change 
of  pronoun. 


98  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Miss  Moth,  rather  wanly. 
"Why  should  every  girl  be  engaged  ?  All  the  same, 
I'm  sorry  for  some  of  them.  There's  so  little  to  look 
forward  to  —  nothing,  in  fact,  except  a  rather  better 
situation  as  typist  in  an  ordinary  office,  or  even  some 
day  the  founding  of  such  a  business  as  Miss  Beauti- 
man's.  Several  girls  have  left  us  to  go  into  offices, 
but  they  all  say  they  wish  they  hadn't.  So  many 
London  employers  and  clerks  don't  seem  to  be  quite 
ready  yet  to  work  side  by  side  decently  with  girls. 
I  suppose  a  time  will  come,  if  we  all  peg  along  and 
insist  on  earning  our  own  living  more  and  more  in 
men's  ways." 

"Are  they  very  horrid  ?"  Ann  asked. 

"They  can  be,"  said  Miss  Moth. 

"Do  you  think  it  will  change  ?  "  Ann  asked. 

"Oh  no,  I  don't.  I  don't  really  believe  in  any 
kind  of  change  except  for  the  worse,  "said  Miss  Moth  ; 
"but  one  always  hopes  underneath,  don't  you  see. 
I  suppose  that's  human  nature  —  like  getting  hungry 
and  tired." 

Ann  looked  at  her  almost  tearfully. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Miss  Moth,  "but  I  wish  that 
there  wasn't  so  much  talked  and  written  and  acted 
above  love ;  because  it  only  fills  girls'  heads  with 
what  oughtn't  to  be  there,  as  things  go.  All  of  our 
lot  would  be  far  happier  if  their  heads  weren't  full  of 
it.  Most  of  life  for  every  one  has  got  to  be  lived 
without  love,  but  you  wouldn't  think  it  from  books. 
Love's  only  frilling,  anyway  ;  but  it  gives  you  some 
thing  besides  yourself  to  think  about,  and  that's  good. 
Work  is  the  real  thing,  of  course  ;  but  the  sillier  kind 


MR.  INGLESIDE  99 

of  girl  can't  see  it,  and  so  they  just  go  on  always 
thinking  of  a  possible  to-morrow,  and  starving  and 
moping  to-day.  Directly  they  get  away  they  begin 
on  their  novelettes.  We  had  a  visit  a  little  while  ago 
from  a  suffragette  who  was  going  round  the  type 
writing  offices  to  get  recruits.  Miss  Beautiman  is  a 
suffragette,  of  course,  but  that  is  what  you  would 
expect :  she  is  a  business  woman,  and  she  wants  a 
hand  in  things ;  but  the  others  only  laughed.  I 
could  have  told  the  truth  about  them  if  I  had  been 
asked.  '  They  don't  want  votes, '  I  should  have  said, 
'  they  want  lovers.  What's  the  good  of  talking  to  a 
lot  of  half-starved  foolish  typists  about  votes  ?  You 
can't  make  a  girl  any  more  sensible  by  giving  her  a 
vote  ;  but  you  can  make  her  happier  by  giving  her  a 
lover,  and  you  can  turn  her  into  a  housekeeper  and 
a  mother  by  giving  her  a  husband.'" 

"Then  you  don't  want  a  vote?"  Ann  said. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  Miss  Moth  replied  wearily. 
"I'm  tired,  anyway." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN  WHICH  A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN'S 
GENTLEMANLY  FUTURE    IS  CONSIDERED 

"  T  1  7HAT  are  you  going  to  do  with  John  ?  "  Mr. 

VV  Ingleside  one  day  asked.  " Ann's  begun 
to  learn  typewriting." 

"I  wish  I  knew,"  said  Mrs.  Campion.  "It's  so 
difficult.  He  seems  to  have  no  particular  leaning 
towards  anything,  except  cricket ;  and  I  understand 
that  liberal  as  is  the  payment  of  amateurs  one  can't 
live  on  it." 

"He's  not  old  enough  to  be  secretary  of  a  golf 
club,"  Mr.  Ingleside  remarked.  "Any  gentleman 
may  do  that,  you  know,  but  it  is  usual  to  fail  else 
where  a  good  deal  first.  Quite  aged  second  sons  are 
capital  at  it." 

"Do  be  serious,"  said  Mrs.  Campion.  "The  poor 
boy's  whole  future  depends  upon  it." 

"Frivolity is  the  high  road  to  seriousness,"  said 
Mr.  Ingleside.  "It  always  ends  there." 

"I  blame  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Campion.  "He 
ought  to  have  been  trained  in  some  definite  direction 
from  the  first.  It  is  too  late  now  for  so  many  things 
—  the  Army,  the  Navy,  the  Church.  I  don't  think 
he'd  be  any  use  at  the  Bar,  dear  boy,  and  I'm  sure  he 
wouldn't  go  in  for  medicine.  What  is  there  left  ?  " 


MR.  INGLESIDE  101 

" WeU,  there's  trade/'  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "Any 
one  is  allowed  to  be  a  wine  merchant." 

"I  shouldn't  like  that,"  said  Mrs.  Campion. 

"The  Stock  Exchange,"  Mr.  Ingleside  continued. 
"Extremely  good  form.  High  spirits  equal  to  an 
undergraduate's.  Why  not  buy  him  a  partnership  ? 
He  might  have  a  distinct  flair  for  speculation.  Lots 
of  gilded  youth  have." 

Mrs.  Campion  looked  pained.  "I  couldn't  afford 
that,"  she  said,  "anyway." 

"There's  always  journalism,"  Mr.  Ingleside  added. 
"That  would  put  him  into  a  position  of  command. 
England  is  passing  utterly  into  the  power  of  the 
Press." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Campion,  "but  journalism  wants 
brains." 

"True,"  Mr.  Ingleside  replied,  "but  not  neces 
sarily  the  journalist's.  I  don't  suggest  that  he 
should  do  anything  low.  He  might  confine  himself 
to  dramatic  criticism  and  noting  the  names  of  guests 
in  the  swagger  restaurants.  I  am  told  that  this 
carries  free  meals  with  it." 

"You  are  incorrigible,"  said  Mrs.  Campion,  "and 
you're  not  helping  me  a  bit." 

"Oh  yes,  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "We've 
cleared  away  a  lot  of  ground.  There's  still  the 
stage." 

"Never,"  cried  Mrs.  Campion. 

"Hush,"  said  her  friend;  "don't  say  'never'  so 
loud.  It's  often  not  till  parents  shout '  never '  at  the 
top  of  their  voices  that  sons  begin  to  think  seriously 
of  doing  the  forbidden  thing.  Why  not  the  stage  ? 


102  MR.  INGLESIDE 

It  will  teach  him  to  walk  well,  at  any  rate,  and  to 
keep  his  hands  still,  and  to  wear  beautiful  trousers." 

"Please  don't,"  said  Mrs.  Campion.  "You  hurt 
me.  How  could  I  have  a  son  who  was  an  actor  ?  " 

"Why  abuse  actors  ? "  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "Act 
ors  are  very  enviable  people." 

" How,  enviable  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Campion.  "You 
don't  call  it  enviable,  do  you,  to  smear  grease  paint 
on  your  face  every  evening?" 

"Not  alone,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 

"Well,  do  you  call  it  enviable  to  be  always  pre 
tending  you  are  some  one  else  ?" 

"Certainly  I  do,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "That's 
just  what  I  do  call  enviable.  Acting  might  be  de 
scribed  as  a  protest  against  fact ;  and  indeed  actors 
seem  to  be  among  the  happiest  persons ;  and  they 
are  notoriously  the  healthiest.  No  actor  or  actress  is 
ever  ill ;  which  shows  what  a  fraud  fresh  air  must  be. 
I  know  that  I  for  one  would  often  like  to  be  some  one 
else  —  or  rather,  to  put  it  more  accurately,  I  would 
often  like  to  cease  to  be  myself.  Actors  are  con 
tinually  pretending  that  they  are  others.  I  knew  a 
young  stationer  once  with  a  heavy  moustache,  who 
on  his  annual  fortnight  at  the  seaside  carried  a  bag 
with  '  Captain  Marden '  on  it  and  the  name  of  a 
regiment  under  the  name.  The  military  status  he 
assumed,  and  the  consequent  attention  that  he 
received  in  his  boarding-house,  gave  him  more  pleas 
ure  and  refreshment  than  all  the  ozone  of  the  sea. 
For  two  weeks  he  was  another  man  and  a  happy  man. 
Such  a  device  would  be  no  good  to  me,  because  my 
mind  is  so  absurdly  constituted  that  to  deceive 


MR.  INGLESIDE  103 

others  is  useless  to  it  unless  I  can  deceive  myself  too  ; 
but  he  was  more  sensibly  made,  and  he  revelled  in  it. 
Actors  are  in  his  happy  position  every  night  of  their 
lives." 

"The  man  was  a  bounder,"  said  John,  who  had 
come  in  while  they  were  talking. 

" Oh,  I  dare  say  he  was,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "But 
what  of  that  ?  This  world  belongs  to  bounders ; 
it  is  the  very  place  for  them.  They  are  in  a  great 
majority.  It  is  we  fastidians  (as  I  might  call  us) 
who  are  the  intruders  ;  and  it  is  we  who  are  .always 
applying  the  caustic  epithets.  We  do  so  largely 
because  we  are  disappointed  and  jealous.  We  know 
in  our  hearts  that  we  are  too  exacting  to  enjoy  the 
existing  conditions,  and  that  makes  us  bitter ; 
whereas  the  bounder  is  attuned  to  them,  and  there 
fore  contented.  Don't  abuse  bounders,  my  boy. 
Don't  abuse  anybody. 

"But  of  course,"  Mr.  Ingleside  continued,  "John 
can't  go  on  the  stage,  because  John  isn't  an  actor. 
Actors  are  always  actors.  A  man  does  not  go  on  the 
stage — does  not  accept  this  life  of  pretence  and  grease 
paint  and  heat  and  applause — unless  he  has  a  dis 
position  that  way.  The  unreality  of  it  all  nauseates 
John ;  he  will  therefore  never  be  an  actor.  Nor 
could  John  ever  contemplate  the  spectacle  of  his  wife 
exchanging  public  caresses  with  other  men  ;  he  will 
therefore  never  marry  an  actress.  But  actors  and 
actresses  think  nothing  of  all  this.  Every  calling  is 
staffed  by  the  people  who  are  fitted  for  it ;  those  who 
join  it  by  mistake  leave.  Actors  are  actors  ;  tailors 
are  tailors  ;  hairdressers  are  hairdressers  ;  reporters 


io4  MR.  INGLESIDE 

are  reporters ;  election  agents  are  election  agents. 
It  is  that  fact  which  makes  so  much  criticism  futile 
and  absurd.  Idle,  for  example,  to  find  fault  with  a 
restaurateur  for  not  having  the  sense  to  taste  his 
own  food  and  see  for  himself  that  his  mushrooms,  for 
instance,  are  without  any  flavour  save  that  of  the 
kitchen  ;  because  a  restaurateur  is  a  restaurateur  : 
that  is  to  say,  a  man  without  any  interest  in  flavours. 
To  him  mushrooms  are  not  one  of  the  rarest  of  nat 
ural  delicacies,  but  simply  so  much  little  white  fungus 
that  arrives  at  Covent  Garden  in  the  autumn  at  a 
shilling  or  so  a  bushel,  and  may  be  retailed  very 
profitably,  after  being  ruined  by  his  chef,  at  three 
pence  apiece.  Do  you  see  ?  All  this  (though  you 
might  not  think  it)  leads  up  to  what  I  want  to  say. 
People  are  what  they  are.  Hence  the  principal 
reason  for  becoming  an  actor  —  the  ease  with  which 
one  escapes  from  oneself — falls  to  the  ground,  be 
cause  an  actor,  being  an  actor,  does  not  value  this 
privilege,  since  to  a  very  great  extent  he  is  nothing 
unless  he  is  some  one  else.  He  has  so  little  person 
ality  to  escape  from." 

Mr.  Ingleside  paused,  and  John  gave  a  long  whistle. 

"What  a  lecturer  you'd  make,"  he  said.  "I've 
never  heard  you  say  so  much." 

"That's  your  mother's  fault,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 
"She  makes  me  talk." 

" Of  course  I  do,"  Mrs.  Campion  replied.  "That's 
what  women  are  for." 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN  WHICH  MANY  ASPECTS  OF  THE  NEW 
TERROR  ARE  DISCUSSED 

IT  was  a  Friday  evening, and  Vycount  Ramer  had 
brought  in  with  him  a  late  edition  with  the  news 
of  another  suffragette  raid  in  it.  He  read  the  account 
—  the  usual  thing  :  on  the  one  side,  the  granite  male 
tradition  of  ages  ;  on  the  other,  a  handful  of  exas 
perated,  excited  girls,  with  a  very  real  cause  to  further 
and  no  satisfying  means  of  furthering  it  but  shrill 
tumult  and  lawlessness.  Christie  listened  with  im 
patience  and  angry  grunts. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  the  close.     "I  give  it  up." 

"What  do  you  give  up?  "  Mr.  Ingleside  asked. 

"The  anti-suffrage  business.  I've  been  on  the 
fence  a  long  time,  and  now  I'm  coming  down." 

"On  which  side?" 

"On  the  suffragettes'  side,  of  course.  In  future 
I'm  a  suffragette  too." 

"But  their  horrible  tactics,"  said  Henry  Thrace. 
"Their  brickbats.  Their  - 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Christie  ;  "but  I  don't  care. 
They're  right.  They  ought  to  have  a  vote.  Any 
drunken  beast  can  have  it,  with  nothing  to  qualify 
him  but  his  damned  trousers,  while  the  cleverest 
woman  in  the  country  mayn't  express  an  opinion. 

105 


io6  MR.  INGLESIDE 

It  isn't  fair,  and  I'm  not  going  to  stand  it.  Hence 
forward  I'm  a  suffragette." 

"  Votes  for  Wimmin,"  piped  Leslie. 

"I  don't  mind,"  said  Christie.  " They've  got  to 
have  votes." 

"Serve  them  right  if  they  had,"  said  Leslie. 
"  There's  no  fun  in  voting." 

"Fun!"  snapped  Christie.  "Who  wants  fun? 
They're  in  earnest." 

"You  will,  of  course,  express  your  new  views  in 
your  paper  ?  "  said  Leslie. 

"Leave  my  paper  alone,"  said  Christie.  "We've 
had  all  that  out  before.  The  paper's  opinions  and 
mine  will  never  be  the  same.  They  pay  me  for  cer 
tain  work,  and  I  do  it,  and  that's  all.  They  haven't 
bought  my  soul." 

"How  jolly  it  would  be,"  said  Leslie,  who  was 
never  happier  than  in  ragging  Christie,  "to  find  a 
Tory  paper  of  which  the  staff  were  Tory  too.  Odd 
about  you,  Christie :  you're  not  a  liar  in  any  other 
direction." 

Henry  Thrace  dashed  in  to  avoid  a  real  loss  of 
temper.  "I'm  glad  you  feel  so  deeply  about  it," 
he  said  to  Christie  ;  "I  wish  I  could,  but  women  are 
so  hopeless.  Most  women  are  either  exchanging 
scandal,  or  making  it,  or  hoping  to  be  mistaken  for 
Dimpsie  Dentifrice." 

"Well,  and  what  are  most  men  doing?"  retorted 
Christie.  "No,  if  it  comes  to  that,  there's  not  a 
penny  to  choose.  But  that's  not  the  point.  The 
point  is  that  those  women  who  want  to  vote  should 
be  allowed  to.  Those  that  don't  want  to  needn't. 


MR.  INGLESIDE  107 

I  don't  pretend  to  be  any  great  shakes  as  a  politician 
or  sociologist,  but  I  can  see  plainly  enough  that  a  new 
kind  of  woman  has  arisen,  and  that  the  state  of  things 
must  be  adapted  to  meet  her  case.  I  can  believe 
that  fifty  years  ago,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  one  of 
the  disfranchised  sex  was  on  the  throne,  the  cry, 
'  Votes  for  Women, '  would  have  rung  out  with  some 
insincerity.  But  women  are  very  different  now. 
There  are  at  once  more  unmarried  women  and  there 
are  more  women  who  marry  without  illusions.  But 
what  is  more  to  the  point,  women  have  been  enabled 
to  earn  their  living  in  such  a  great  variety  of  new 
ways  that  those  who  are  independent  of  men  have 
increased  in  number  enormously  and  will  go  on  in 
creasing." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "I  think  it  is  time 
that  Englishmen  had  a  lesson.  Whether  the  suffra 
gettes  win  or  lose — and  I  suppose  they  will  win  some 
day  —  things  can't  be  as  they  were.  A  few  more  men 
will  have  been  taught  to  meet  women  frankly  with 
the  true  homage  of  level  terms,  in  place  of  the  false 
homage  of  the  silky  drawing-room  voice." 

Ann  coming  in  at  this  moment,  Richard  Oast 
turned  to  her.  "I  suppose  you're  going  to  be  a 
suffragette?"  he  said  pleasantly. 

"I  dare  say,"  said  Ann,  "but  I  haven't  thought 
much  about  it  yet.  I  should  probably  think  as 
father  did." 

"A  very  poor  preparation,"  said  Oast.  "The  art 
of  being  a  suffragette  is  to  ignore  your  father's 
opinions.  But,  my  dear,  I  don't  think  you're  very 
promising  material.  You  belong  too  naturally  to 


io8  MR.  INGLESIDE 

life.  Your  tendency  is  to  find  it  good.  The  suffra 
gette  is  bred  of  discontent — as  indeed  all  reform  is." 

"The  first  one  may  have  been,"  said  Christie, 
"but  they're  not  all  discontented  women  any  longer. 
There  are  plenty  of  suffragettes  who  are  made  so  by 
reason  and  a  sense  of  justice.  Why,  how  could  a 
decent,  intelligent  woman  sit  down  under  the  impli 
cation  that  she's  not  fit  to  do  what  any  cab-rank 
waterman  has  the  right  to  do — choose  the  law-mak 
ers  of  the  country?  It's  absurd  on  the  face  of  it." 

"But  there  are  many  ways  of  influencing  the 
country  besides  voting  for  a  member  of  Parliament," 
said  Leslie. 

"Of  course,"  Christie  replied,  "but  that  again 
isn't  the  point.  The  point  is  that  the  disability  is 
insulting  and  degrading  and  unbearable.  It  doesn't 
matter  whether  it's  right  or  wrong  ;  what  matters  is 
that  half  the  inhabitants  of  the  country  are  debarred 
from  the  privilege  of  choosing  a  representative 
merely  through  an  accident  of  sex.  Women  may  do 
everything  else :  write,  lecture,  teach,  control  busi 
ness,  entertain,  act,  sing,  become  doctors,  lawyers, 
scholars,  even  sit  on  the  throne ;  but  they  mayn't 
vote.  They  may  marry  members  of  Parliament  and 
be  the  mothers  of  members  of  Parliament,  but  they 
mayn't  vote  for  members  of  Parliament.  Aren't 
you  beginning  to  see  some  of  the  idiocy  of  it?" 

"To  my  mind,"  said  Richard  Oast,  "a  large 
part  of  the  hostility  to  the  suffrage  movement  is 
pure  caution  on  the  part  of  the  men.  Men  are 
naturally  more  self-protective  than  women :  they 
look  ahead  —  or  perhaps  it  would  be  truer  to  say  that 


MR.  INGLESIDE  109 

they  feel  ahead  —  and  safeguard  themselves.  The 
more  imaginative  men  —  the  artists,  and  so  forth  — 
don't  mind  the  suffrage,  and  even  support  it,  because 
they  not  only  rather  like  the  novelty  and  change, 
but  because  they  know  instinctively  that  no  matter 
what  happens  they  personally  will  be  all  right : 
women  will  still  want  them  ;  Meredith,  you  remem 
ber,  was  for  the  cause.  But  the  ordinary  unattrac 
tive  man  is  quite  aware  already  that  this  movement 
is  leading  to  something  very  like  a  sex  war,  and  that 
with  every  concession  towards  power  that  he  makes 
his  reign  is  shortened.  Every  recruit  to  the  suffra 
gette  army  is  a  loss  to  the  seraglio  of  this  person. 
That's  what  he  fears.  That's  why  he's  so  bitter  and 
pig-headed." 

"Very  good,"  said  Christie. 

"Butldon't  think  thecause  has  much  of  afuture," 
Oast  continued,  "because  I  don't  think  there  will 
ever  be  enough  disinterested  women  —  or  enough 
women  sufficiently  discontented  —  to  carry  it.  It 
is  essentially  a  single-woman's  war,  and  the  young 
stalwarts  will  continually  be  getting  engaged  and 
dropping  out.  Nature  is  the  real  enemy  of  such 
struggles,  not  man.  Nature  has  arranged  it  that 
most  women  want  one  man  only,  and  want  noth 
ing  apart  from  him.  That's  the  trouble,  Christie. 
Your  malcontents  will  always  be  numerous,  and 
possibly  always  determined ;  but  they  will  be  a 
minority  ;  most  women  will  continue  to  be  unmoved 
—  they  will  have  other  and  more  primitive  fish  to  fry. 
Nor,  I  fear,  did  Nature  give  the  sex  any  great  faculty 
of  mobilization.  They  will  fail  there  too." 


no  MR.  INGLESIDE 

"The  whole  movement,"  said  Dr.  Staminer,  "is 
linked  together.  That  is  partly  why  it  is  so  danger 
ous,  and,  to  my  mind,  so  sure  to  succeed.  I  did  not 
think  of  it  at  the  time  :  but  looking  back  on  my  life 
now,  I  can  see  that  I  have  watched,  although  inar 
ticulately,  every  stage.  I  can  remember  the  girls 
— my  own  sisters  among  them — of  the  fifties  and 
sixties,  how  docile  they  were,  how  content  to  wait 
for  their  wooers  and  do  only  the  feminine  things. 
Archery  and  croquet,  both  staid  and  almost  station 
ary  pastimes,  were,  after  riding,  their  only  open- 
air  games  with  the  nobler  sex. 

"Then  the  seventies,  with  the  arrival  of  lawn  ten 
nis  and  woman's  first  willingness  to  be  hot  and  breath 
less  too.  Looking  at  it  now,"  the  doctor  continued, 
"I  believe  that  the  whole  river  of  feminine  indepen 
dence  may  be  traced  to  the  first  drop  of  perspiration 
caused  by  the  first  game  of  mixed  doubles.  It  was 
that  drop,  and  the  woman's  disregard  of  it,  that 
began  the  new  movement  towards  equality. 

"What  the  seventies  and  lawn  tennis  began,"  he 
continued,  "the  eighties  and  the  bicycle  enforced. 
Because  it  was  the  bicycle  that  killed  the  power  of 
the  parent  and  chaperon.  The  difference  in  the 
English  girl  before  and  after  the  bicycle  is  almost 
indescribable.  She  mounted  the  bicycle  nominally 
to  ride  with  her  brother,  or  even  to  get  more  quickly 
to  choir  practice,  and  it  carried  her  to  emancipation. 

"The  typewriter,"  the  doctor  added,  smiling  at 
Ann,  "came  at  the  same  time,  to  act  as  an  inter 
mediary  for  her  introduction  to  city  life — also  a 
step  towards  enfranchisement.  In  the  eighties 


MR.  INGLESIDE  in 

came  also  the  woman's  club  and  the  woman's 
cigarette. 

"And  then  the  nineties,  which  brought  golf  to 
every  suburb  and  a  ladies'  day  to  every  club,  and 
hockey  and  cricket  to  every  girls'  school ;  and  behold 
a  girl  had  ceased  utterly  to  be  a  girl,  a  superior,  deli 
cate  creature  of  blushes  and  sensitivenesses,  to  be 
touched  reverently  like  a  peach,  but  was  now  a 
good  fellow,  and  a  man  need  no  longer  mind  his  man 
ners  when  he  was  with  her. 

"And  by  the  time  the  new  century  arrived,"  the 
doctor  concluded,  "women  were  so  active  in  so  many 
directions  once  reserved  for  men  only  that  the  suffra 
gette  movement  was  as  logical  a  proceeding  as  the 
fire  that  follows  an  earthquake.  It  is  the  future 
that  I  think  of  with  most  gravity,  for  nothing  of 
course  stands  still,  and  a  sex  war  would  be  a  horrible 
thing." 

"What  a  splendid  summary  !"  said  Christie.  "I 
wish  you'd  write  that  for  me." 

"I've  forgotten  it  already,"  said  the  doctor. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Leslie.     "Christie  hasn't." 

"Few  of  the  aggressive  body  probably  begin  the 
campaign  as  the  enemies  of  man,  but  fewer  go  on 
with  it  in  any  other  spirit.  That  is  what  is  so  dan 
gerous,"  said  the  doctor. 

"I  don't  know  any  suffragettes,"  said  Mr.  Ingle- 
side.  "I  should  rather  like  to." 

"I  know  an  out-and-outer,"  said  Ramer.  "I 
wonder  if  I  might  bring  her  here." 

"Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "That's  just 
what  we  want." 


ii2  MR.  INGLESIDE 

"Fm  scared  to  death  of  her,"  said  Ramer,  "but 
I'll  try." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  the  whole-heartedness 
of  Miss  Lily  Custer  as  a  suffragette.  She  was  fragile 
and  small,  but  independence  and  courage  were 
stamped  on  her.  She  had  short  curling  hair  and 
was  pale  and  determined,  with  large  grey  eyes  and 
thin  red  lips :  a  very  noticeable  face.  She  wore 
always  a  grey  tailor-made  dress  and  a  man's  collar, 
with  a  black  tie.  Her  hands  were  slender  and  long 
and  very  white.  Miss  Custer  had  been  to  Girton 
and  had  done  fairly  well,  and  then  discovered  that 
she  wanted  to  be  an  artist.  She  still  had  a  studio, 
but  it  had  become  a  political  centre,  and  nothing  had 
been  painted  there  for  months — except  the  character 
of  man  generally,  and  Cabinet  Ministers  in  particular, 
in  black.  Some  of  the  most  desperate  of  the  ruses 
of  the  party  had  been  planned  by  this  little  delicate 
creature.  It  was  she  who  had  got  right  into  the 
courtyard  of  the  House  of  Commons  disguised  as  the 
chauffeur  of  a  taxi-cab  —  having  spent  some  weeks 
in  motor-driving  to  qualify  herself  for  the  trick.  It 
was  she  who  thought  out  the  great  Downing  Street 
invasions,  when  three  of  her  colleagues  disguised  as 
French  milliners  got  into  the  boudoir  of  the  Prime 
Minister's  wife,  and  having  locked  the  door,  lectured 
that  lady  upon  their  ideals  and  intentions  for  an 
hour  before  help  could  be  secured.  It  was  she  who 
successfully  engineered  the  historic  kidnapping  and 
detention  of  the  Home  Secretary.  Her  name, 
however,  seldom  appeared.  Most  of  all  was  it  she 
who  kept  the  movement  at  white  heat,  her  inventive 


MR.  INGLESIDE  113 

genius  never  allowing  it  to  lack  some  alluring  ele 
ment  of  romance.  Whether  she  wanted  the  vote  was 
a  question  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  answer  with 
any  confidence  ;  but  certain  it  was  that  she  held  men 
in  contempt  and  desired  excitement  and  power. 
Her  attitude  to  men  was  one  of  calm  and  impreg 
nable  assurance  and  superiority.  The  result  was 
that  they  feared  her,  and  yet,  like  moths,  were  un 
able  to  resist  burning  their  wings  in  the  cold  flame 
of  her  disdain.  She  never  relaxed  ;  even  those  that 
professed  themselves  suffragettes  she  seemed  to 
despise  also,  perhaps  (who  knows  ?)  for  the  want  of 
manliness  that  their  creed  involved  ! 

Our  Lady  of  Misrule  (as  she  had  been  called) 
came,  but  the  evening  was  not  a  success.  She 
realized  quickly  that  there  were  no  converts  here  : 
more,  that  she  was  in  a  company  of  men  who  cared 
so  little  for  causes  and  battle-cries  that  they  probably 
forgot  that  they  had  votes  themselves.  Christie,  it 
is  true,  was  present,  with  his  new  fervour,  but  Chris 
tie  would  never  out  of  a  clear  sky  have  advocated 
votes  for  women  ;  he  had  come  over  merely  through 
a  sense  of  the  injustice  of  withholding  them  —  a 
very  different  thing.  Moreover,  he  had  not  resigned 
his  post  on  a  paper  notoriously  hostile  to  the  move 
ment  :  his  words,  therefore,  to  one  who  would  have 
made  any  sacrifice  for  her  beliefs,  were  valueless. 

Richard  Oast  did  his  best  to  discuss  with  detach 
ment  the  policy  of  militancy  and  aggression,  but 
Miss  Custer  seemed  to  deprecate  not  only  criticism 
but  even  the  most  harmless  questions.  She  knew 
she  was  right. 


ii4  MR.   INGLESIDE 

The  M.P.  suggested  that  there  might  conceivedly 
be  people  to  hold  the  view  that  women  who  perse 
cuted  and  vilified  and  assaulted  statesmen  because 
they  were  held  to  have  broken  their  word  were  not 
providing  the  best  credentials  as  responsible  electors. 
Miss  Custer  only  smiled. 

"What  else  are  they  to  do?"  Christie  asked  im 
patiently. 

"Well,"  said  Oast,  "many  causes  have  been  won 
by  waiting." 

Miss  Custer 's  smile  darkened  to  a  scowl.  "Wait ! " 
she  said.  "Haven't  we  waited  ?" 

"You  haven't,"  said  Oast.  "You  haven't  had 
time  to  wait.  You're  only  a  child." 

"The  others,  then?"  said  Miss  Custer. 

"In  my  opinion,"  said  Oast  —  "and  you  can  disre 
gard  it,  for  it  is  only  the  opinion  of  a  man — they  had 
been  waiting  splendidly,  and  were  just  beginning  to 
reap  the  harvest  of  their  quiet  efficiency  and  good 
sense,  when  the  fruit  was  dashed  from  their  hands  by 
the  impatient  high  spirits  of  the  younger  faction  — 
the  Maenad  Malcontents,  shall  I  call  them  ?  I  know 
of  mothers  who  for  years  have  steadily  been  proving 
their  right  to  vote,  whose  own  daughters  fresh  from 
school  have  ruined  their  chances  for  years  to  come." 

"But  even  if  the  younger  members'  tactics  are  too 
violent,"  said  Miss  Custer,  "isn't  it  absurd  to  allow 
that  to  disqualify  the  older  ones  ?  " 

"Ah,"  said  Oast.  "You  are  talking  as  if  the  world 
were  logical.  That  is  what  one  does  when  one  is 
young  and  powerful.  It  may  be  absurd,  but  then 
we  are  absurd ;  life  is  absurd.  We  act  upon  a  thou- 


MR.  INGLESIDE  115 

sand  impulses  before  logic's  still  small  voice  can  be 
heard  at  all.  And  very  naturally.  For  logic,  with 
all  its  merits,  has  no  heart  and  no  warm  blood. 
Absurd,  yes ;  but  it  would  be  even  more  absurd  if 
men,  after  viewing  the  political  aspirations  of  women 
with  suspicion  for  all  these  centuries,  should  suddenly 
say,  'Well,  they  use  dog- whips  across  the  faces  of  our 
rulers  very  handily ;  they  worry  and  annoy  our 
Prime  Minister  with  extraordinary  persistence  and 
skill,  and  do  their  best  to  ruin  his  health  and  nerves  ; 
they  throw  stones  with  unexpected  accuracy.  We 
are  now  satisfied.  They  shall  have  the  vote  to 
morrow  :  these  are  exactly  the  kind  of  people  to  elect 
representatives  wisely.'  Do  you  honestly,"  Oast 
concluded,  turning  smilingly  to  Miss  Custer,  "do 
you  honestly  believe  that  you  are  going  the  right  way 
to  work?" 

Miss  Custer  said  nothing.  She  was  not,  in  fact, 
a  dialectician.  Her  rebellions  were  her  arguments. 
At  last,  however,  she  spoke.  "  Men  are  so  contemp 
tible,"  she  said. 

Everybody  laughed,  even  Christie.  Not  that  they 
felt  themselves  to  be  so  wonderfully  worthy :  but 
the  little  woman  was  so  desperately  vitriolic. 

"Well,"  said  Oast,  "I'm  not  going  to  argue  that. 
If  anyone  says  to  me,  '  You  are  contemptible, '  I  am 
contemptible.  To  that  person,  I  mean.  Happily, 
every  man  —  even  the  lowest  —  can  find  some  one 
who  thinks  a  little  better  of  him  than  that,  and 
many  of  us  are  fortunate  in  never  mixing  with  the 
severer  critics  at  all." 

"  I  mean  as  a  class,"  said  Miss  Custer.   "  As  a  class 


n6  MR.  INGLESIDE 

men  are  contemptible.  They  don't  really  care  for 
women  a  scrap.  They  want  them  as  pets  and  ser 
vants,  and  directly  that  bores  them,  they  escape  to 
their  offices  and  clubs.  It's  men  that  men  want  with 
any  steadiness.  I  know  that ;  and  you  know  it. 
That's  why  I  hate  them  so,  and  that's  why  I  mean 
to  go  on  doing  my  best  to  keep  them  in  discomfort." 
Miss  Custer  made,  however,  one  convert — more 
than  convert,  slave  —  and  that  was  Sybil  Aylward, 
who  was  spending  a  week  with  Ann.  Miss  Aylward 
had  always  leaned  towards  rebellion,  and  here  was  a 
leader  worth  the  name.  She  gazed  fascinated  upon 
her  all  the  evening,  and  helped  her  on  with  her  things 
at  the  close  of  it  with  proud  hands.  "May  I  come 
and  see  you?"  she  asked.  "Yes,  do,"  said  Miss 
Custer,  and  named  an  hour. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN  WHICH  OUR  LADY  OF  MISRULE 
HEARS  THE  WORST 

SYBIL  and  Ann  arrived  punctually  at  the  little 
revolutionary's  studio  on  the  day  appointed,  to 
find  it  already  populous. 

It  was  a  strange  company.  All  women,  of  course, 
and  mostly  mischievous,  for  Miss  Custer  attracted 
only  that  variety.  They  were  prepared  to  do  any 
thing  for  what  was  called  the  cause,  so  long  as  it 
embarrassed  the  Government  and  kept  the  fire  at 
white  heat.  Whatever  feelings  they  may  individ 
ually  have  entertained  for  individual  men,  their  at 
titude  as  a  whole  to  the  male  sex  was  obviously  one 
neither  of  reverence  nor  fear.  So  long  as  they  were 
together,  the  old  dependence  had  passed :  that  was 
certain.  They  neither  expected  chivalry  nor  es 
teemed  it.  But  whether  they  trusted  each  other  to 
maintain  this  front  for  ever  is  another  matter. 
Women,  even  political  women,  are  still  daughters  of 
Eve,  doomed  by  an  ancient  law,  so  venerable  as  to 
have  been  inscribed  upon  the  statute  book  of  fate  be 
fore  the  beginnings  of  memory,  to  be  intimate  friends 
only  rarely,  doomed  to  a  clashing  of  interests, 
doomed  to  an  imperfect  frankness. 

But  here,  within  closed  doors,  and  the  purple, 
117 


n8  MR.   INGLESIDE 

green,  and  white  floating  free  over  all,  they  came 
very  near  a  single  purpose  unvitiated  by  suspicion. 

It  was  a  dangerous  air  for  Sybil  to  breathe.  Ann 
could  stand  it,  for  she  had  work  to  do  and  little  sub 
jectivity,  and  she  was  not  a  fighter.  But  Sybil  was 
rich  and  unemployed,  and  all  her  natural  tendencies 
towards  anarchy  and  denial  were  likely  to  be  nour 
ished  here.  For  the  vote  she  cared  nothing ;  but 
for  an  outlet  for  energy  she  cared  much.  It  is  clear 
enough  that  until  the  suffrage  movement  began  this 
element  in  virtuous  feminine  nature  had  never  had 
play.  No  wonder  that  it  made  such  an  appeal  to 
the  firebrands,  the  elves,  and  the  malcontents.  At 
last  they  had  power,  power  not  only  utterly  apart 
from  man,  their  successful  rival  in  nearly  every 
branch  of  activity,  but  power  absolutely  against 
him. 

Miss  Custer  made  excellent  coffee,  and  there  were 
cigarettes  for  all  who  wanted  them.  The  two 
strangers  being  there  —  especially  Ann,  whose  eyes 
were  too  candid  for  treachery,  and  yet  who  was 
manifestly  not  of  the  party  —  no  secrets  of  the  cam 
paign  were  discussed  ;  only  the  generalities  of  war. 
News  was  brought  of  allies  absent  in  gaol ;  a  late 
comer  had  great  tidings  of  an  anonymous  gift  of  five 
thousand  pounds  to  the  funds ;  various  triumphs 
at  recent  public  meetings  were  recorded ;  one  or 
two  bruises  were  shown. 

The  talk  then  ran  for  the  most  part  on  an  absent 
stalwart,  one  Magda,  the  best  speaker  of  this 
younger  faction.  She  had  gone  abroad  to  recover, 
and  her  return  had  from  time  to  time  been  post- 


MR.  INGLESIDE  119 

ported,  not  too  greatly  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
others,  who  looked  to  her  silver  tongue  to  tell  them 
exactly  what  they  thought  and  where  they  stood. 

They  were  all  jolly  enough  until  suddenly  the  door 
was  flung  open  and  in  burst  a  girl  as  though  pursued. 
She  closed  it  and  held  the  handle  in  her  right  hand, 
as  they  do  on  the  stage,  and  pressed  her  left  to  her 
heart  as  she  leaned  back  rigidly.  Her  face  was 
white  and  she  panted. 

1  'Whatever  is  it?"  some  one  asked. 

"Magda!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Well,  what  about  her?" 

"Tell  us  quick." 

"Is  she  ill?" 

The  girl  moved  to  a  chair  and  sank  into  it. 
"Worse  than  that,"  she  said. 

"Not  dead!"  exclaimed  Miss  Custer. 

"Worse,"  said  the  girl. 

A  shudder  ran  round  the  room,  and  Miss  Custer's 
lips  became  hard  and  contemptuous. 

"Engaged,  I  suppose?"  she  said,  with  a  terrible 
coldness. 

"Worse,"  said  the  girl. 

"My  God!"  said  Miss  Custer,  in  a  whisper, 
"married!" 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  dismay. 

"But,"  said  one  of  the  older  ones  at  last,  "why  are 
we  so  hasty  ?  Perhaps  she  has  married  a  man  who 
sympathizes  with  us.  Rich,  too.  That  would  be 
splendid." 

But  the  girl  who  had  brought  the  ill  tidings  gave 
no  hope.  "He's  well  enough  off,"  she  said,  "but 


120  MR.  INGLESIDE 

there's  nothing  to  expect  from  him.  He's  dead 
against  us.  A  perfect  Turk." 

"The  traitor  !"  said  Miss  Custer.  "But  I  never 
felt  sure  of  her.  She  never  really  knew  how  to  treat 
men.  She  always  softened  under  them.  That 
changed  manner,  changed  voice,  which  women  keep 
for  men  —  I  used  to  notice  them  directly.  Men  !" 
—  she  used  the  word  as  though  it  was  a  whiplash 
with  which  to  scourge  the  whole  sex.  "There's  no 
chance  for  us  until  we  have  learnt  to  treat  men  like 
snakes." 

No  one  present  quite  believed  her,  but  they  did 
not  care  to  engage  her  in  battle,  at  any  rate  just 
then,  and  a  murmur  of  acquiescence  ran  round. 

"How  did  you  hear  about  it  ? "  the  messenger  was 
asked. 

"I  met  Magda's  sister,"  she  replied.  "She  told 
me.  Magda  has  been  away  for  a  long  time  — 
that's  why  she  went  away.  She  said  —  her  sister, 
I  mean  —  that  Magda's  terribly  in  love." 

Miss  Custer  turned  to  marble. 

"  They're  in  Spain  now ;  they  are  not  to  be 
back  for  months." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Every  one  was  nervous 
and  stunned. 

Miss  Custer,  who  had  been  staring  at  her  cigarette 
smoke  with  large,  despairing  eyes,  got  up.  "Well," 
she  said,  "I'm  going  out.  Stay  on  here  as  long  as 
you  like,  but  bang  the  door  after  you  or  the  bolt 
won't  catch.  This  marriage  is  too  horrible,  too 
ghastly.  You'll  all  do  it,  I  expect.  I  can't  trust 
one  of  you.  You're  all  hopeless  when  one  of  these 


MR.  INGLESIDE  121 

frauds  comes  along.  The  world  wasn't  made  for 
serious  people :  it  was  made  for  the  weak  and  the 
treacherous." 

She  disappeared,  and  the  others  looked  at  each 
other  with  disquietude. 

"Poor  Lily  !"  said  one.  "She  takes  it  too  much 
to  heart." 

"Poor  Lily  ! "  said  another.  " Oughtn't  some  one 
to  run  after  her  ?  " 

But  no  one  stirred,  not  even  the  speaker. 

Sybil  caught  Ann's  arm.  "Come  away,"  she 
said  :  "we're  strangers,"  and  they  got  up. 

Their  movement  relieved  the  strain,  and  the 
others  prepared  to  go  too. 

As  for  Lily  Custer,  she  held  up  her  little  tense 
white  face  to  the  rain,  and  grew  calmer  as  the  drops 
beat  upon  it.  But  she  knew  what  Napoleon  felt  not 
only  at  Waterloo  but  at  St.  Helena.  And  her  new 
knowledge  did  not  stop  there.  Perhaps  she  knew 
also  what  Magda's  feelings  were.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IN  WHICH  ANN  TAKES  DOWN  A  LETTER 
AND  A  SPEECH 

THE  work  at  Miss  Beautiman's  was  not  done 
entirely  in  the  office.  Several  times  a  week 
the  girls  were  wanted  elsewhere,  to  take  down  let 
ters  ;  and  on  one  occasion,  after  Ann  had  been  there 
for  a  month  and  Miss  Beautiman  had  no  one  else  to 
send  in  reply  to  a  sudden  summons,  Ann  volun 
teered  to  go.  For  the  most  part  these  clients  were 
the  ordinary  dull  business-men  of  London,  whose 
own  typists  were  away  or  machines  broken ;  but 
now  and  then  Ann  had  better  luck.  Mr.  Ruddie, 
for  instance.  "I'm  very  sorry,"  Miss  Beautiman 
had  said,  "he's  such  a  jumpy,  angry  little  man  : 
but  he's  good  as  gold  at  heart.  You  just  mustn't 
mind  him.  It's  only  his  way,  after  all." 

Ann  was  therefore  quite  prepared  for  the  state  of 
fume  and  fret  in  which  her  momentary  employer 
was  seething. 

"Hallo,"  he  said,  "another  girl!  Why  is  it  al 
ways  a  stranger?" 

Ann  said  she  was  very  sorry. 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  he  said.  "It  doesn't  matter 
a  damn.  Nothing  matters  in  this  bungled  world. 
If  you  ever  have  any  children,  my  dear,  strangle 
them  at  birth.  Now  we'll  start,  if  you're  ready." 

122 


MR.  INGLESIDE  123 

Ann  waited  patiently  while  Mr.  Ruddie  paced  the 
floor.  "Dear  Sir'1  he  began,  but  at  once  withdrew 
it.  "No,  I  won't  say  dear.  He's  not  dear  ;  why, 
I'm  having  a  row  with  him.  Why  should  we  per 
petuate  these  miserable  medievalisms?  Dear, 
indeed  !  Say  Sir  instead.  No,  wait  a  minute  ;  I 
believe  that  the  third  person  would  be  more  effec 
tive.  Begin,  Mr.  Victor  Ruddie  begs  to  acknowledge 
the  receipt  of  Mr.  Pingree1  s  letter  of  the  i$th.  Have 
you  got  that?  No,  stop.  What  the  devil  does 
begs  mean  ?  I  don't  beg.  Mr.  Victor  Ruddie  ac 
knowledges  the  receipt  of  Mr.  Pingree's  letter  of  the  i$th. 
That's  all  right.  Now  we  can  go  ahead.  So  far 
from  doing  what  Mr.  Pingree  wants,  Mr.  Ruddie  will 

see  him "  Mr.  Ruddie  here  paused  to  call  at 

the  top  of  his  voice,  "Mr.  Packer  !  Mr.  Packer  !" 

The  door  opened,  and  a  patient  head  was  pushed 
through. 

"It's  not  wise,  is  it,  to  swear  in  a  letter?"  Mr. 
Ruddie  inquired. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Packer,  "it's  not." 

"Just  what  I  thought,"  said  Mr.  Ruddie.  "Don't 
say  damned,  my  dear,"  he  added  to  Ann.  "It's  a 
mistake.  Never  swear  when  you're  having  a  row, 
or  the  other  party  will  forget  the  subject  of  the  row 
and  accuse  you  of  using  foul  language.  It's  one  of 
the  meanest  tricks  in  this  dirty  little  world,  which  is 
controlled,  my  dear,  by  the  mediocre  and  crafty  for 
the  mediocre  and  gullible.  But  to  proceed.  So  far 
from  doing  what  Mr.  Pingree  wants,  Mr.  Ruddie 
is  inspired  merely  to  reiterate  his  previous  refusal  with 
additional  emphasis.  Have  you  got  that  down? 


i24  MR.   INGLESIDE 

That's  rather  good,  I  think.  Just  read  it  as  far  as  it 
goes,  my  dear." 

Ann  read  it. 

"What  a  nice  voice  you've  got,"  said  Mr.  Ruddie. 
"They  send  such  cockneys  as  a  rule.  Have  you  got 
a  young  man  ?  " 

Ann  replied  very  shortly  that  she  had  not.  She 
was  beginning  to  be  vexed,  but  Mr.  Ruddie,  al 
though  he  was  perfect  material  for  the  readily  quarrel 
some,  had  never  really  vexed  any  human  soul.  He 
was  too  eager,  too  transparent,  too  amusing,  too 
naive. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said,  noticing  her  abruptness. 
"Don't  be  cross  with  me  if  I  say  silly  things.  I'm 
the  kind  that  has  to  say  everything  in  order  to  say 
anything.  I  talk,  and  you  must  sift  it  to  find  the 
sense,  don't  you  see.  Don't  have  a  young  man  yet, 
my  dear.  Wait  till  you're  thirty.  No  woman 
should  marry  till  she's  thirty  and  no  man  till  he's 
forty.  You  know  what  you  want  then.  I'm 
serious  about  it,  my  dear,  because  I  have  done  the 
other  thing.  I  married  when  I  was  twenty-one 
and  my  wife  was  only  nineteen.  .  .  .  Just  read 
what  you've  got,  my  dear." 

Ann  read  it  again. 

"And"  said  Mr.  Ruddie,  resuming  his  dictation, 
"it  is  Mr.  Ruddie' s  deliberate  opinion  that  the  repe 
tition  of  a  letter  containing  practically  word  for  word 
an  impudent  demand  that  has  already  been  repudiated 

is  the  action  of "  Mr.  Ruddie  again  stopped 

to  call  for  Mr.  Packer,  and  Mr.  Packer  again  ap 
peared. 


MR.  INGLESIDE  125 

"It's  not  libellous,  is  it,"  Mr.  Ruddie  asked,  "to 
call  a  man  a  cad." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Packer.  "It's  not  libellous, 
but " 

"But  what?"  Mr.  Ruddie  snapped. 

"But  it's  not  always  expedient." 

"Expedient  be blowed  ! "  said  Mr. Ruddie,  turning 
again  to  Ann  and  completing  the  sentence  —  "  the 
action  of  a  cad.  There  now,  copy  that,  and  we'll 
fire  it  off  and  see  what  happens." 

It  was  tantalizing  to  Ann  never  to  know  the  end 
of  this  passage  of  arms ;  but  that  is  the  tragic  side 
of  the  typists'  life  :  they  don't  see  the  replies. 

On  another  occasion  Ann  was  sent  to  the  Grand 
Hotel  to  take  down  a  speech.  This  she  enjoyed 
immensely.  The  speaker  was  a  shy  and  simple 
country  gentleman  who,  much  as  he  hated  the  plat 
form,  had  from  a  sense  of  public  duty  consented  to 
act  as  the  chairman  of  a  public  meeting  ;  and  with 
him  was  his  barrister  son.  Ann  found  the  father 
and  son  in  a  sitting-room,  with  a  great  deal  of  note- 
paper  on  the  table  and  newspapers  all  over  the 
floor.  Mr.  Bellingham  was  nervous  and  kindly  : 
Dick  was  exceedingly  pleased  with  himself.  They 
were  both  smoking  when  Ann  entered,  but  Mr.  Bel 
lingham  at  once  threw  away  his  cigar.  Dick,  who 
was  young  enough  to  make  as  few  distinctions  as 
possible  between  men  and  women,  especially  women 
who  were  earning  their  own  living,  retained  his.  "I 
like  a  girl  to  be  a  good  fellow, "  he  used  to  say. 

"I  hope  you  can  take  a  quick  note  ? "  Mr.  Belling 
ham  asked. 


126  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"Fairly  quick,"  Ann  replied. 

"Quick  enough  for  you,  I'll  be  bound,"  said  Dick 
to  his  father.  "Fluency  was  never  your  long  suit." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Bellingham,  after  he  had  opened 
the  window  a  little,  "let  us  make  a  start." 

"Ladies  and  Gentlemen"  he  began,  "we  are  met 
together  this  evening  to  listen  to  Mr.  Kyrle-Fanshawe, 
M.P.,  who  will  address  us  on  the  critical  situation  of 
the  moment.  This  is  a  matter  on  which  every  one 
present  has  opinions.  For  myself " 

"Hold  hard,  my  dear  man,"  said  Dick.  "You  are 
going  much  too  fast.  You  can't  plunge  into  things 
like  that." 

"Why,  what  have  I  missed  out  ?  "  Mr.  Bellingham 
inquired.  "I've  said  too  much,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
because  of  course  every  one  will  know  what  Kyrle- 
Fanshawe  is  going  to  speak  about  and  why  they  are 
there." 

"Of  course  they  know  it,"  said  Dick,  "but  the 
essence  of  oratory  is  to  tell  people  what  they  know 
already  and  butter  them  up.  You  mustn't  talk 
as  though  you  were  in  your  office." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Bellingham  wearily," you  begin 
it." 

Dick  needed  no  second  invitation.  "Now,  Miss," 
he  said  —  "Ladies  and  Gentlemen.  It  gives  me  great 
pleasure  to  see  so  many  of  you  here  to-night.  I  have 

attended  many  important  meetings  in  my  time 

Am  I  going  too  fast?" 

"No,"  said  Ann.     "I  can  just  manage  it." 

"I'll  try  to  be  a  bit  more  andante,"  said  Dick  — 
"but  I  never  remember  to  have  seen  an  audience  at 


MR.  INGLESIDE  127 

once  so  representative  and  so  intelligently  anticipative. 
There,  father,  that's  the  style." 

"  Great  heavens,!  can't  talk  like  that !"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Bellingham. 

"  Great  heavens,  you  must ! "  said  Dick.  "There 
are  certain  fixed  laws,  and  you've  got  to  obey 
them.  Now,  Miss.  //  gives  me  particular  pleasure 
to  see  on  the  platform  our  old  friend  Mr.  Stick- 
in-the-Mud." 

"Who  on  earth's  that?"  asked  Mr.  Bellingham. 

"Oh,  you  must  find  out  from  the  agent.  There's 
sure  to  be  some  one  there  who  will  need  special 
mention.  There  always  is.  Now,  Miss,  please  : 
We  are  met  here  on  this  auspicious  occasion"  —  Mr. 
Bellingham  groaned  — "  on  this  auspicious  occasion,  to 
welcome  Mr.  Kyrle-Fanshawe,  whose  name  has  for 
years  been  familiar  on  our  lips  as  a  household  word," 
—  Mr.  Bellingham  groaned  again,  —  "but  whom  most 
of  us  now  for  the  first  time  meet  face  to  face.  There  is  no 
need  for  me  to  tell  you  what  Mr.  Kyrle-Fanshawe  has 
done  —  how  he  has  been  one  of  the  mainstays  of  the 
party  for  nearly  a  decade  —  how  he  has  always  been 
watchful  to  raise  politics  above  mere  party,  and  has 
made  the  welfare  of  the  country  his  pole-star" 

"My  dear  Dick,  I  can't  talk  that  way,  and  nothing 
shall  make  me,"  said  Mr.  Bellingham.  "It's  dis 
gusting.  I  know  nothing  about  this  man.  I'm 
only  taking  the  chair  because  I  feel  strongly  on  the 
question.  I  never  allude  to  pole-stars  :  it's  not  my 
way.  A  man  must  be  characteristic." 

"Well,  father,  you've  got  to  play  the  game,"  said 
Dick.  "If  you  take  the  chair,  you  must  behave 


128  MR.  INGLESIDE 

accordingly.  Now  go  on  yourself.  I've  got  you 
safely  through  the  opening.  There'll  be  prolonged 
cheers  at  the  point  where  I  left  off,  and  that  will  cover 
the  transition  from  my  style  to  yours." 

Mr.  Bellingham  sighed  and  began  again,  contin 
uing  smoothly  for  some  minutes. 

"That's  better,  father,"  said  his  son;  "but  of 
course  you're  no  real  good.  You  say  what  you  mean 
at  once." 

"And  why  not  ?  "  Mr.  Bellingham  inquired  in  some 
heat. 

"Why  not?  Because  it's  against  the  rules  of 
platform  oratory.  You  say  simply,  'I  say.'  You 
ought  to  put  it,  'I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying.' 
Don't  you  see?" 

Mr.  Bellingham  was  understood  to  say  that  he  saw 
but  did  not  agree. 

"Again,"  said  Dick,  "you  say,  'I  can't  remember.' 
That's  conversation,  it's  not  oratory.  You  ought  to 
say,  'I  assure  you,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  in  the 
whole  course  of  my  life,  looking  back  upon  it  with 
the  utmost  vigilance,  I  cannot  recollect  ever  having 
heard  a  more  monstrous  proposition.'  They  will 
give  you  applause  for  that." 

"I  don't  want  applause,"  said  Mr.  Bellingham. 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  dad,  of  course  you  do.  Every  one 
wants  applause  ;  and  in  meetings  like  yours  you  need 
it  too.  It's  electricity.  Without  it,  you'll  be  as  flat 
as  stale  beer." 

"By  theway,"  Mr.  Bellingham  suddenly  remarked, 
with  much  anxiety,  "what  am  I  to  do  if  the  suffra 
gettes  cut  in?" 


MR.  INGLESIDE  129 

"Do?  Nothing.  Have  them  thrown  out,  and 
don't  say  a  word.  Just  wait  and  look  dignified." 

"Yes,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Bellingham,  "but  I 
can't  allow  that.  I  can't  see  women  handled  roughly. 
It  is  too  horrible." 

"You  must  get  used  to  it,"  Dick  said.  "They 
ask  for  it,  you  know." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  said  Mr.  Bellingham.  "It  re 
volts  me." 

"Well, you've  got  to  choose,"  said  Dick,  "between 
two  courses.  Either  you  let  them  go  on  inter 
rupting,  and  the  meeting  is  ruined,  or  you  fire 
them." 

"But  don't  you  —  ah  —  think  I  might  reason  with 
them?  Show  them  the  fallacy  ?  The  —  ah  —  funda 
mental  difference  between  men  and  women,  you 
know.  Woman,  the  mother,  the  very  roof-tree  of 
the  home  —  and  so  forth.  I  doubt  if  it  has  ever 
been  put  to  them  quite  like  that." 

"  Roof-tree  be  jiggered,"  said  Dick.  "  It's  as  bad 
as  pole-star,  too.  No,  they've  got  past  all  that. 
Believe  me,  there's  only  one  thing  to  do.  Fire 
them." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Bellingham,  " all  very  well.  But 
do  you  know  that  your  mother  has  come  to  sym 
pathize  with  them  very  deeply?" 

Dick  whistled. 

"  Sh  ! "  said  Mr.  Bellingham,  glancing  at  Ann,  who 
bent  her  head  over  her  notes  in  a  passion  of  decipher 
ing  zeal. 

"It's  awkward  when  the  roof-tree's  against  you," 
said  Dick.  "Dear  old  mater,  I  must  come  home  for 

E 


130  MR.   INGLESIDE 

a  week-end  and  reason  with  her.  Suffragettes  in 
deed  !  She'll  be  a  vegetarian  next.  And  a  Chris 
tian  Scientist!" 

"She  is  one  already,"  said  Mr.  Bellingham. 

"Expect  me  on  Friday  night,"  said  Dick. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Bellingham,  with  a  sigh,  "let's 
hope  that  Mr.  Kyrle-Fanshawe  is  not  sufficiently 
important  for  any  of  the  suffragettes  to  come  to  his 
meeting.  It  is  Cabinet  Ministers  they  go  for  as  a 
rule.  Are  you  a  suffragette,  Miss  —  ah — Miss—  —  ?" 

"I'm  greatly  interested  in  the  movement,"  said 
Ann. 

"And  what  is  your  view  of  my  chances  of  getting 
through  safely?"  Mr.  Bellingham  said. 

Ann  said  that  she  had  no  views  at  all. 

"You  don't  know  them  at  head-quarters?"  he 
asked  a  little  wistfully. 

Ann  said  that  she  did  not. 

Mr.  Bellingham  sighed  again.  "Let  us  proceed," 
he  said.  He  brought  his  speech  to  an  end  without 
further  difficulty,  and  Dick  pronounced  it,  on  the 
whole,  satisfactory,  although  much  too  mild. 

"Well,  that's  over,"  Mr.  Bellingham  exclaimed, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "Now  perhaps  we  can  think  of 
lunch." 

"  Over  ! "  replied  Dick.  "What  about  your  speech 
to  follow  his?" 

"Do  I  speak  again?"  Mr.  Bellingham  asked  in 
alarm. 

"Again  !  My  dear  father,  you  speak  twice  more. 
You  speak  once  to  say  you  never  heard,  and  you  are 
sure  no  one  present  ever  heard,  a  more  eloquent  and 


MR.  INGLESIDE  131 

powerful  exposition  of  facts  and  principles  than  that 
delivered  by  Mr.  Kyrle-Fanshawe  — 

"But  suppose  I  don't  think  so  ?"  Mr.  Bellingham 
retorted.  "I've  always  heard  he's  a  bad  speaker." 

"My  dear  father,"  replied  Dick,  "you  make  me 
tired.  Aren't  you  the  chairman  of  the  meeting? 
Very  well,  then,  you  think  his  speech  perfect.  A 
chairman  has  no  alternative.  The  idea  of  dragging 
criticism  in  !  It's  preposterous." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Bellingham.  "But  you 
said  I  had  to  speak  twice.  What  is  the  other  occa 
sion?" 

"In  reply  to  the  vote  of  thanks  to  you,  of  course." 

"Is  that  necessary  ?  Must  there  be  a  vote  of 
thanks?" 

"My  dear  antediluvian  parent,"  said  Dick,  "you 
seem  bent  upon  vitiating  all  the  good  feeling  of  public 
meetings  —  bringing  in  a  crude  indecency  that  must 
in  the  end  degenerate  into  the  plain  give-and-take  of 
a  commercial  transaction.  Of  course  it's  necessary. 
Of  course  there  will  be  a  vote  of  thanks  to  you,  and 
of  course  you  must  say  that  never  in  your  life  have 
you  been  spoken  of  so  charmingly,  and  even  though 
you  know  the  praise  to  be  unearned,  you  will  never 
forget  it  so  long  as  you  remember  anything." 

"I  needn't  say  much  ? "  Mr.  Bellingham  inquired. 

"No,  you  can  make  it  as  short  as  you  like  —  as 
long  as  you  don't  offend  the  proposer  by  your  curt- 
ness.  Who  will  it  be,  by  the  way  ?  " 

"I  haven't  heard,"  said  Mr.  Bellingham;  "but 
probably  Henderson." 

"The  butcher?" 


132  MR.  INGLESIDE 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  Lord!"  said  Dick.  "Has  he  paid  that 
money  yet  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Bellingham. 

"Then,"  said  Dick,  "you're  lost.  Hell  lay  it  on 
with  a  trowel." 

"Yes,  I'm  afraid  he'll  be  fulsome,"  said  Mr.  Bel 
lingham. 

"Rancid,"  said  Dick. 

"Well,  I  wish  I  was  well  out  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Bel 
lingham,  as  he  turned  once  more  to  Ann  to  complete 
his  ordeal. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IN  WHICH  A  CITIZEN  OF  A  COUNTRY 
WITH  A  FUTURE  VISITS  A  COUNTRY 
WITH  A  PAST 

MR.  INGLESIDE  laid  down  one  of  his  letters 
with  a  sigh.  "Mr.  Waler  arrived  at  Liver 
pool  yesterday,"  he  said,  "and  he  will  call  on  us  this 
evening." 

"But  who  is  Mr.  Waler?"  Ann  asked. 

"Mr.  Waler  is  an  American  who  has  an  introduc 
tion  to  me.  He  is  alone.  Mrs.  Waler,  he  explains, 
could  not  make  the  trip,  as  she  had  hoped  to  do. 
We  must  ask  him  to  dinner.  He  is  going  to  stay 
close  by,  at  the  Cecil." 

Mr.  Waler  was  tall  and  thin  and  grave  :  one  of 
those  mirthless  Americans  who  use  the  language  of 
humour  about  everything  but  themselves  and  their 
nation ;  who  take  things  as  they  come ;  and  whose 
attitude  to  life  is  largely  that  of  a  placid  and  very 
solvent  customer  in  a  store.  Like  so  many  Ameri 
cans,  he  uttered  every  remark,  even  the  commonest 
expression  of  opinion,  as  if  he  were  on  oath.  The 
extra  drop  of  nervous  fluid  which  (according  to 
Colonel  Higginson)  God  added  when  he  made  the 
American  may  have  been  secreted  somewhere  in  his 
anatomy,  but  it  certainly  never  found  its  way  to 

133 


134  MR.   INGLESIDE 

his  conversation.  He  was,  also,  like  many  Ameri 
cans,  a  remorseless  unloader.  Mr.  Waler  had  been 
in  business,  with  the  success  that  seems  to  us  here 
to  dog  the  footsteps  of  his  whole  nation,  and  now, 
having  retired,  he  had  taken  up  comparative  edu 
cation  as  a  hobby. 

He  arrived  punctually,  and  before  shaking  hands 
with  his  host  and  Ann  pronounced  their  names  im 
pressively  ;  which,  since  no  English  guest  ever  can 
catch  or  retain  the  name  of  the  person  to  whom  he  is 
introduced,  would  be  an  impossible  habit  to  accli 
matize  here,  even  though  a  very  excellent  one.  Mr. 
Waler,  glancing  at  Mr.  Ingleside's  swallow-tailed 
coat,  then  apologized  for  his  own  attire  ;  but  he  had 
understood,  he  said,  that  in  England  it  was  the  cus 
tom,  when  there  was  no  dinner  party  but  only  a 
friendly  and  easy  gathering,  for  Tuxedos  to  be  per 
mitted. 

"Mrs.  Waler  and  I,"  he  said,  "make  a  point  of 
allowing  our  guests  at  Umsquot  absolute  liberty,  and 
possibly  the  habit  has  been  bad  for  me.  In  Rome,  I 
always  say,  one  should  do  as  the  Romans  do  ;  within 
bounds,  of  course.  I  believe  with  our  President, 
Mr.  Taft,  that  an  American  should  never  cease  to  be 
an  American  anywhere,  but  at  the  same  time  I  think 
that  it  would  be  an  error  for  his  nationality  to  be 
betrayed  by  his  costume.  If  it  would  not  delay 
dinner,  Miss  Ingleside,  I  would  like  to  step  across  to 
the  Hotel  Cecil  and  just  change  this  Tuxedo  for  a 
claw-hammer  coat  like  your  father's." 

This,  however,  was  not  permitted,  for  Mr.  Ingle- 
side  solved  the  problem  by  slipping  out  of  the  room 


MR.  INGLESIDE  135 

and  exchanging  his  claw-hammer  for  what  in  Amer 
ica  is  known  as  a  Tuxedo  and  here  as  a  dinner-jacket. 

Mr.  Waler's  admiration  of  his  tact  was  intense. 
"I  shall  be  mailing  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Waler  to-morrow 
morning,"  he  said,  "and  I  shall  tell  her  this  story. 
Mrs.  Waler  will  be  delighted.  There  is  no  better 
authority  on  the  unwritten  laws  of  etiquette  than 
Mrs.  Waler." 

These  sartorial  nuances  having  ceased  to  monop 
olize  his  attention,  Mr.  Waler  was  free  to  generalize. 

"You  have  a  very  convenient  location  here,  Mr. 
Ingleside,"  he  said.  "I  don't  see  how  you  could  be 
better  fixed,  with  the  river  right  there  and  the  heart 
of  London  so  near.  I  have  always  heard  that 
Charing  Cross  is  the  heart  of  London,  and  I  wished, 
in  the  small  hours  last  night,  that  it  wouldn't  beat  so 
hard.  They  seemed  to  be  shunting  all  the  time." 

"I  thought,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "that  after  New 
York  London  was  like  the  grave  for  silence." 

"New  York,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Waler.  "But  not 
Umsquot.  Umsquot  is  a  peaceful  hamlet  thirty 
miles  from  New  York.  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  con 
tinued,  "that  Mrs.  Waler  is  not  with  me.  Mrs. 
Waler  is  a  great  connoisseur  of  domiciles,  and  this 
one  would  give  her  real  pleasure." 

At  dinner  the  conversation  turned  upon  differences 
between  America  and  England,  English  institutions, 
the  Abbey,  and  so  forth.  Like  so  many  Americans 
who  come  to  England,  Mr.  Waler  had  no  apparent 
reverence  for  anything  except  his  wife  and  the  intel 
lectual  and  moral  eminence  of  certain  of  his  country's 
public  characters,  in  speaking  of  whom  his  voice 


136  MR.  INGLESIDE 

broke  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  Americans  will 
probably  never  understand  the  Englishman's  claim 
to  the  right  to  criticize  those  whom  he  esteems,  just 
as  the  English  will  never  understand  the  American's 
willingness  to  forego  that  agreeable  privilege. 

The  new  portrait  of  Pepys  caught  Mr.  Waler's  eye, 
and  he  asked  who  it  was  ;  and  when  it  was  explained 
by  what  right  the  diarist  had  so  honoured  a  place,  his 
excitement  was  really  delightful  to  watch. 

"  And  am  I  really  taking  dinner,"  he  said,  "under 
a  roof  that  once  sheltered  Samuel  Pepys?  Well, 
this  is  a  great  evening.  I  shall  never  forget  this 
evening.  America,"  Mr.  Waler  continued,  "is  a 
great  country;  but  it  is  a  country  with  a  future. 
Nothing  can  make  it  a  country  with  a  past.  Eng 
land  is  a  country  with  a  past." 

"And  no  future?"  Mr.  Ingleside  asked. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Waler  tactfully,  "  that  its  past 
is  the  more  noticeable.  If  we  want  the  past,  we  must 
come  to  Europe.  Europe  is  our  playground.  There 
is  no  playground  for  a  country  with  a  future  like 
a  country  with  a  past.  We,"  he  sighed,  "we  have 
no  Pepys." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "but  you  have  Dooley." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ann,  "  and  Louisa  M.  Alcott.  I  used 
to  love  her  books." 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Waler,  "you  should  talk  with 
Mrs.  Waler  about  the  genius  of  Miss  Alcott.  She 
once  read  an  essay  upon  her  before  the  Umsquot 
Summer  School. 

"Mr.  Ingleside,"  said  Mr.  Waler,  as  he  examined 
his  host's  shelves  after  dinner,  "I  see  that  you  have 


MR.  INGLESIDE  137 

here  the  works  of  Walter  Pater.  I  suppose  you  know 
the  commentary  on  Pater  by  Dr.  Winthrop  P.  Mus- 
ker?"  Mr.  Ingleside  had  to  confess  ignorance. 

"Dr.  Musker,"  said  Mr.  Waler,  "is  a  very  charm 
ing  man  :  one  of  the  most  valued  members  of  our 
society  at  Umsquot.  Mrs.  Musker  is  a  very  lovely 
woman,  and  she  and  Mrs.  Waler  are  very  intimate. 
Dr.  Musker  will  go  far. 

"Miss  Ingleside,  are  you  fond  of  poetry?"  Mr. 
Waler  asked. 

Ann  said  she  was  fond  of  the  poetry  she  liked. 

"I  expect  you  don't  know  the  work  of  Dr.  Cyrus 
Weedling,"  said  Mr.  Waler.  "Dr.  Cyrus  Weedling 
is  a  very  remarkable  young  man,  a  graduate  of  Har 
vard,  and  now  on  the  staff  of  the  Senator,  one  of  our 
leading  papers.  His  verses  have  attracted  a  con 
siderable  amount  of  attention  in  America,  where  we 
are  much  interested  in  poetry.  Mrs.  Waler  thinks 
very  highly  of  them.  One  of  his  lyrics  was  dedicated 
to  Mrs.  Waler." 

"And  what  is  his  work  like  ?  "  Mr.  Ingleside  asked. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Waler,  "it  is  difficult  to  say,  but 
it  will  give  you  a  good  notion  if  I  describe  him  as 
being  a  Keats  with  more  reality  and  a  Browning 
with  more  music." 

"He  has  a  shorter  name  than  most  American 
poets,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "The  poets  who  write 
in  the  American  magazines  very  often  have  names 
that  are  longer  than  their  poems." 

Mr.  Waler  acknowledged  the  criticism  with  dig 
nity.  "On  my  return,  Miss  Ingleside,"  he  said,  "I 
shall  have  much  pleasure  in  mailing  you  a  copy  of 


i38  ME.  INGLESIDE 

Dr.  Weedling's  last  book,  and  I  will  get  Mrs.  Waler 
to  mark  her  favourites  in  the  contents  with  a  little 
pencil  cross.  It  will  add  largely  to  the  book's  in 
terest. 

"Well, good-night,  Mr.  Ingleside,"  said  Mr.  Waler, 
an  hour  or  so  later.  "I've  had  a  bully  evening. 
My  only  regret  is  that  Mrs.  Waler  was  not  with  me. 
Mrs.  Waler  is  a  very  exceptional  woman,  Mr.  Ingle- 
side.  There  is  no  subject  that  she  has  not  mastered. 
Mrs.  Waler  passed  through  Vassar  with  great  dis 
tinction." 

Mr.  Ingleside  expressed  his  satisfaction  in  a  tone 
of  voice  which  suggested  that  such  success  was  in 
evitable  in  the  bride  of  Mr.  Waler,  and  asked  if 
there  was  any  particular  thing  in  London  that  Mr. 
Waler  wished  to  see. 

"Since you  ask  me,Mr.  Ingleside,"  said  Mr.  Waler, 
"I  will  tell  you.  I  should  greatly  esteem  the  privi 
lege  of  seeing  some  of  your  most  influential  authors 
in  the  flesh.  Is  that  a  reasonable  proposition  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "As  it  happens, 
the  Royal  Literary  Fund  Dinner  is  to  be  held  next 
week.  I  shall  have  much  pleasure  in  taking  you 
as  my  guest.  Most  of  the  writing  swells  will  be 
there.  Whose  features  are  you  most  anxious  to 
gaze  upon?" 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Waler,"!  should  not  care  to 
return  and  face  Mrs.  Waler  again  without  being  in  a 
position  to  tell  her  something  about  the  appearance 
of  Mr.  Maurice  Hewlett.  Mrs.  Waler  considers  Mr. 
Maurice  Hewlett  one  of  your  brightest  authors.  I 
have  heard  her  say  that  in  him  vitality  and  men- 


MR.  INGLESIDE  139 

tality  may  be  observed  in  their  highest  and  loveliest 


union." 


"Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 

"Mrs.  Waler,"  continued  Mr.  Waler,  "has  all  Mr. 
Maurice  Hewlett's  works  bound  in  uniform  binding. 
There  is  no  other  set  in  Umsquot  that  is  either  so 
handsome  or  so  complete,  although  most  of  our 
friends  there  admire  him  too.  Mrs.  Waler  is  very 
fastidious  about  her  books." 

"To  see  Mr.  Hewlett  will  be  easy,"  said  Mr. 
Ingleside.  "He  will  almost  certainly  be  there." 

"It  would  also  give  me  much  pleasure  to  have  the 
opportunity  of  seeing  Mr.  Austin  Dobson,"  said  Mr. 
Waler.  "Mrs.  Waler  is  of  opinion  that  Mr.  Austin 
Dobson's  poetry  is  as  near  perfection  within  its  own 
limits  as  is  humanly  possible.  When  we  last  made 
the  trip  to  Europe,  Mrs.  Waler  took  a  carriage  and 
drove  out  to  Ealing  in  the  hope  of  finding  Mr. 
Austin  Dobson  and  assuring  him  of  our  admiration  ; 
but  the  maid  informed  us  he  was  not  at  home.  You 
may  not  be  aware  that  Mr.  Austin  Dobson  has 
founded  a  school  of  poetry  in  America.  In  a  recent 
number  of  the  Focus  was  an  article  by  Dr.  M'Callum 
K.  Dwyer,  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Waler's,  on  the  influence 
of  Mr.  Austin  Dobson  on  the  genius  of  Frank  Demp 
ster  Sherman,  Clinton  Scollard,  Walter  Learned, 
and  Roderick  W.  Figg.  It  was  a  very  remarkable 
article,  and  created  considerable  attention." 

"I  hope  that  Mr.  Dobson  will  be  present,"  said 
Mr.  Ingleside.  "In  default  of  him,  there  will  be 
Mr.  Gosse." 

"Mr.  Edmund  W.  Gosse  ?"  said  Mr.  Waler.    "He 


i4o  MR.  INGLESIDE 

and  Mrs.  Waler  have  long  corresponded  on  literary 
matters.  It  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  shake  his 
hand.  How  I  wish  Mrs.  Waler  were  here,  not  only 
for  her  sake  but  for  his."  With  these  words  Mr. 
Waler  took  his  leave,  with  a  heavy  punctilio  that  left 
the  Inglesides  racked  by  a  suspicion  that  their  man 
ners  single  and  collectively  were  of  the  sty. 

"Sing  some  old  English  song,  Ann,  quick,"  said 
Mr.  Ingleside,  when  they  were  alone  again.  "He 
is  a  vurry  cultivated,  lovely  man,  but  sing  some  old 
English  song  quick." 

Ann  sang  "Mowing  the  Barley." 

"Now  let  us  look  at  the  river,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 

They  leaned  over  the  embankment  coping  and 
watched  the  dark,  cruel  water.  It  was  perfectly 
still  to-night :  no  movement  at  all :  the  texture  of  the 
surface  was  smooth  almost  as  of  oil :  it  intensified 
every  light  it  caught  and  gave  them  back  with  twice 
their  brilliance.  There  was  nothing  moving  in  the 
stream,  but  a  few  cabs  drove  by,  and  the  bridges 
rumbled  as  trains  passed  at  Charing  Cross.  The 
light  of  session  burned  in  the  clock  tower,  showing 
that  the  law-makers  were  still  at  work,  while  on 
every  seat  three  or  four  homeless  creatures  were 
twisted  into  incredible  attitudes  for  their  night's  rest. 

Ann  looked  at  them  and  shuddered  —  not  with 
disgust  but  with  the  consciousness  of  anomaly. 

"Can't  anything  be  done?"  she  asked. 

"Ask  them, "  said  her  father,  pointing  to  the  House. 

"But  isn't  it  terrible?"  she  said. 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  replied.  "For  the  old,  cer 
tainly.  And  yet  to  be  very  poor  is  the  next  best 


MR.  INGLESIDE  141 

thing  to  being  very  rich.  Some  might  even  place 
it  higher.  The  very  poor  are  the  only  people  who 
can  do  what  they  like.  No  one  troubles  about  their 
clothes ;  they  have  no  office  hours ;  the  meanest 
thing  that  happens  to  the  good  is  a  surprise  and  an 
excitement.  And  all  the  best  food  belongs  to  the  poor. 
How  I  long  sometimes  for  what  they  call  snacks 
of  fish  !  One  could  eat  then  !  And  sausages  and 
mashed!" 

The  Literary  Fund  Dinner  filled  Mr.  Waler  with 
delight,  but  with  little  else,  for  he  was  so  busy  in 
identifying  the  company  by  means  of  the  chart 
that  he  had  no  time  to  eat.  He  was  at  Buckingham 
Street  early  the  next  morning,  to  renew  his  thanks 
for  so  momentous  an  evening. 

"I  enjoyed  it  all  immensely,"  said  Mr.  Waler 
again.  "It  was  fine.  My  only  grief  was  that  Mrs. 
Waler  was  not  with  me.  Mrs.  Waler  would  have 
rejoiced  in  it.  There  were  authors  present  whose 
works  Mrs.  Waler  knows  by  heart.  I  have  just 
cabled  Mrs.  Waler,"  he  said,  "that  I  shook  Mr. 
Edmund  W.  Gosse's  hand.  It  is  an  incident  that 
will  gratify  not  only  Mrs.  Waler  but  the  whole 
of  Umsquot." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IN    WHICH    A    YOUNG    GENTLEMAN    OB 
TAINS  NO  LACK  OF  ADVICE 

JOHN  was  annoyed  when  he  heard  that  Ann  had 
begun  to  work  regularly.  It  was  really  with 
himself  that  he  was  vexed ;  but  he  transferred 
the  responsibility  to  her. 

"It's  absurd,"  he  said.  "A  girl  like  you  !  What 
do  you  want  to  earn  your  own  living  for,  anyway  ? 
You're  not  poor." 

"I  want  to  be  independent,"  said  Ann.  "Don't 
you?" 

"All  in  good  time,"  said  John.  "But  I  don't 
hold  with  independence  in  women.  Women  were 
meant  to  be  looked  after  by  men." 

"What  women  are  you  looking  after  ?  "  Ann  asked. 

"Oh,  well,  of  course  I  don't  say  every  man  has  a 
woman  to  look  after,  always  ;  but  at  any  rate  what 
would  my  mother  do  without  me,  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Ann.  "I  thought  it  was  she  who 
looked  after  you." 

"That's  a  low  thing  to  say,"  said  John.  "Just 
because  I  haven't  been  able  to  find  any  congenial 
work  just  yet,  you  turn  on  me ; "  and  he  went  off  in  a 
huff  and  had  his  hair  expensively  cut.  Men  have 
so  many  resources. 

None  the  less  he  thought  about  his  idleness  a  good 
142 


MR.  INGLESIDE  143 

deal,  and  wrote  to  several  of  his  friends  for  advice, 
and  asked  several  more  to  lunch  or  dinner  for  the 
same  purpose.  They  did  themselves  very  well,  as  our 
ugly  slang  has  it,  and  put  in  what  John  described  to 
his  mother  as  "some  very  useful  evenings"  at  the 
Halls  of  Variety,  sporadically  discussing  the  great 
problem.  John  collected  a  number  of  opinions,  cov 
ering  in  fact  most  of  the  walks  in  life  that  may  be 
followed  without  loss  either  of  caste  or  perspiration 
by  a  young  gentleman  of  the  moment. 

"It's  a  pity  you  haven't  got  any  grey  matter," 
said  Claude  Fortescue,  who  was  reading  for  the  Bar, 
"or  you  might  write.  I  don't  mean  books,  of  course. 
In  the  papers.  Journalism's  getting  jolly  classy, 
you  know.  It's  quite  the  thing  now  for  a  journalist 
to  have  rooms  in  Mayfair  or  even  over  the  Savoy. 
But  of  course  you're  not  brainy." 

"  If  you  knew  a  few  really  oofy  peers,  you  might  be 
a  bailiff,"  said  Victor  Wragg-Folcot,  whose  father 
had  placed  him  on  a  handsome  allowance  with  a  firm 
of  stockbrokers.  "There's  the  Ducker, you  know  — 
he's  dropped  into  a  perfect  three  hundred  a  year, 
with  plenty  of  mounts  and  a  set  of  rooms,  and  all  he 
has  to  do  is  to  hear  the  men  going  to  work  in  the 
morning  and  to  play  tennis  with  his  employer's 
daughters.  I  believe  you  could  do  that  quite  as  well 
as  he  does.  In  fact,  I  believe  you  could  lie  in  bed  and 
listen  to  men  going  to  work  as  well  as  anybody  in 
Europe." 

"Oh,  shut  up  !"  said  John,  "don't  rot.  Tell  me 
how  one  gets  this  kind  of  thing." 

"Well,"  said  Victor,  "you  are  disqualified  at  once, 


i44  MR  INGLESIDE 

because  in  the  first  place  you  have  to  be  a  younger 
son,  and  in  the  second  place  you  want  heaps  of 
influence.  Piles  of  it.  It  comes  briefly  to  this,  that 
one's  parents  must  know  the  right  people." 

"Don't  you  know  anyone  in  need  of  a  bailiff?" 
John  asked. 

"I  do  not,"  replied  Victor.  "But,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  know  at  least  thirty-five  men  in  need  of  soft 
bailiff  jobs." 

Billy  M'Gregor  enjoyed  his  lunch  immensely  but 
was  not  helpful.  "Ah,  my  dear  boy,"  he  said,  over 
their  cigars,  "if  only  you  had  developed  more  serious 
ness  of  mind  and  purpose.  I  read  in  one  of  the 
papers  the  other  day  that  the  Archbishop  of  York — 
not,  you  observe,  the  primate,  but  only  a  secondary 
person  —  gets  ten  thousand  pounds  a  year.  Ten 
thousand  of  the  very  best,  my  dear  John.  And  you 
have  a  kind  face  and  good  calves  —  in  fact,  every 
thing. 

"Success  in  life,"  he  continued  later,  "all  depends 
upon  beginning  right.  Here  am  I,  and  here  are  you. 
I,  who  began  right  by  being  the  only  son  of  a  wine- 
merchant  of  world-wide  repute,  am  now,  at  the  age 
of  twenty-four,  a  partner  and  your  guest.  You, 
who  began  wrong  by  not  being  directed  into  a  dis 
tinct  groove  or  possessing  a  shrewd  financial  pro 
genitor,  are  at  the  same  age  still  seeking  a  metier  (shall 
I  say  ?)  and  paying  for  excellent  but  expensive  meals. 
Remember,  John,  that  work  is  not,  as  some  suppose, 
the  primal  curse,  but  (a  little  more  of  that  old  brandy, 
please)  the  primal  blessing.  And  now,  I  think, 
Lord's." 


MR.  INGLESIDE  145 

The  Hon.  Arthur  Stacey,  who  was  comfortably 
installed  as  private  secretary  to  a  Cabinet  Minister, 
for  whose  daughter  he  had  bought  so  much  chocolate 
that  an  engagement  seemed  inevitable,  advised  a 
private  secretaryship.  "Not,"  he  added,  "that 
there's  nothing  to  do  ;  but  discretion  comes  before 
labour.  To  put  it  concisely,  if  a  little  coarsely,  the 
rule  of  the  wise  private  secretary  is  Tact  before  Sweat. 
My  man  is  getting  quite  a  reputation  as  an  admin 
istrator  and  a  speaker  ever  since  he  allowed  me  to  cut 
out  the  first  and  last  paragraphs  of  all  his  speeches — 
the  beginning  being  all  gas  and  sham  politeness,  and 
the  end  all  gas  and  sham  patriotism.  A  residuum 
remains  (supplied  by  the  permanent  official)  which 
is  excellent.  You,  of  course,  my  dear  John,  are  not 
gifted  in  that  way ;  but  what  a  pity  you  aren't ! 
You  would  otherwise  make  a  private  secretary  that 
any  man  might  covet,  for  your  tailor  can  really  fit  you, 
and  you  have  a  charming  way  with  taxi-drivers." 

Other  friends  suggested  other  means  of  livelihood, 
all  picturesque  and  ingenious  and  everything  but 
practical.  The  advantages  of  mastering  a  roulette 
system  were  put  before  him  by  Archie  Capstan. 
Gerald  Lake  knew  a  man  who  by  diligently  pur 
chasing  lottery-tickets  had  at  last  won  a  prize  of  two 
thousand  marks. 

"With  a  little  capital,"  wrote  the  Rev.  Stephen 
Bidwell,  once  known  as  Boojum,  but  now  curate  of 
Mils  ted  in  Essex,  "there's  a  lot  of  money  in  inten 
sive  gardening." 

"I  can't  advise  anything,"  wrote  Hector  Sands, 
from  Birmingham,  "but  I  am  sure  of  one  thing,  and 


146  MR.  INGLESIDE 

that  is  that  a  Johnnie  is  a  dam  fool  to-day  if  he 
knows  nothing  about  driving  a  motor.  If  you  take 
my  tip,  you'll  learn  a  car  upside  down  while  you're 
waiting  for  something  to  materialize." 

Ronny  Clumber,  when  he  was  told  of  this,  blew 
the  suggestion  into  a  beautiful  cigarette  ring. 

"Motorin' !"  he  said.  "Motorin's  dead  as  mut 
ton.  Flyin's  the  thing  now,  my  boy.  I've  just 
come  back  from  Amiens,  and  I  tell  you  it's  great. 
I'm  havin'  a  biplane  built  for  me,  with  a  Marinetti 
engine.  There's  nothin' like  it.  Motorin' — what's 
that?  Dusty  roads.  Eyes  full  of  grit.  Police 
traps.  Gaiety  girls.  Bad  inns.  Everything  the  same 
all  the  time.  But  flyin'  !  Flyin's  new  every  trip. 
Think  of  being  up  there  at  forty  miles  an  hour  and 
lookin'  down  on  the  miserable  Johnnies  below ! 
Worth  doin'." 

None  the  less  it  was  Sands  who  won,  and  the  next 
morning  John  came  down  to  breakfast  at  eight 
o'clock,  full  of  importance,  and  at  once  began  to  rage 
because  it  was  not  on  the  table. 

"Eight  o'clock,"  he  muttered,  "and  nothing  here. 
On  a  fine  morning,  too  !  No  wonder  England's 
going  to  the  dogs,"  he  continued,  "with  all  this  sun 
shine  wasted.  People  should  get  up  at  six." 

He  rushed  to  the  bell  in  a  burst  of  impatience  and 
rectitude. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  your  servants, 
mother  ?  "  he  cried,  as  Mrs.  Campion  entered.  "  It's 
disgraceful  the  way  they  neglect  their  work.  You're 
not  firm  enough  with  them.  Look  at  the  sun,  too  ! " 

"What  is  it,  dear  ? "  Mrs.  Campion  asked  sweetly. 


MR.  INGLESIDE  147 

"What  is  it?"  he  replied,  astonished.  "Why, 
there's  no  breakfast.  Here  am  I,  busy  and  wanting 
to  get  away,  and  there's  nothing  to  eat." 

"Well,  my  dear  boy,  you  know,"  said  his  mother, 
"that  I  don't  have  any  breakfast,  and  you  haven't 
been  down  before  half -past  nine  for  weeks." 

"Well,  I'm  here  now,"  said  John,  "and  breakfast 
ought  to  be  at  eight — if  not  earlier,"  he  added.  "In 
future  I  shall  be  punctual." 

Mrs.  Campion  smiled  and  said  nothing. 

After  John  had  silently  and  critically  consumed 
his  meal,  he  ran  to  his  room  and  returned  with  a  bag 
in  his  hand. 

"Are  you  going  away?"  Mrs.  Campion  asked. 

"No,"  he  said.  "I'm  going  to  work.  Please  will 
you  lend  me  five  pounds?" 

"Five  pounds  !"  Mrs.  Campion  exclaimed. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "I've  decided  I  must  not  be  idle 
and  a  burden  to  you  any  more.  Every  man  ought 
to  be  independent.  I  am  therefore  going  to  learn  to 
be  a  shover.  Every  man  ought  to  know  how  to 
drive  a  car  nowadays.  There's  no  knowing  when  you 
may  need  it.  Think  of  how  awful  it  would  be  in 
Scotland,"  he  added  gravely,  "if  you  were  taken  ill 
and  there  was  no  one  to  fetch  a  doctor." 

"But,"  Mrs.  Campion  remarked,  "we  haven't  got 
a  car." 

"No,"  said  John,  "we  haven't.  But  some  one  else 
would  have  one.  There's  always  a  car  near  at  hand  ; 
and  how  could  you  ask  anyone  else  to  get  up  in  the 
dead  of  night  to  drive  it  ?  If  I  knew  how  to  drive  it, 
I  could  have  it  into  the  nearest  town  in  no  time,  and 


148  MR.  INGLESIDE 

save  your  life.  Lots  of  people  have  died  through 
the  want  of  a  doctor  like  that,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Campion  controlled  her  face  with  difficulty 
and  opened  her  desk. 

"Who  is  going  to  have  the  five  pounds?"  she 
asked. 

"Some  very  decent  people  in  the  Vauxhall  Bridge 
Road,"  said  John.  " They  guarantee  to  turn  you 
out  a  finished  shover  for  a  fiver.  I've  got  some  old 
clothes  here  to  change  into  at  the  garage.  Thanks 
awfully,"  he  added,  as  his  mother  handed  him  the 
money.  "It's  only  a  loan,  mind.  In  future  I  pay 
interest  on  all  money  you  advance  me.  At  the 
earliest  possible  date  this  shall  be  paid  back,  with 
five  per  cent,  interest  from  this  morning.  Perhaps 
you'll  work  the  sum  out  for  me." 

And  he  was  off. 


CHAPTER  XX 

IN  WHICH  WE  ARE  PRESENT  AT  THE 
CHRISTENING  OF  THE   CAPRICE 

ON  arriving  at  Mr.  Ingleside's  rooms  on  the  next 
Friday,  the  guests  were  surprised  to  find  his 
study  a  very  bower  of  flowers.  Each  in  turn  noticed 
it  and  commented  upon  it,  each  in  turn  was  told  by 
Ann  that  it  was  her  father's  birthday. 

"He's  fifty- two  to-day,"  she  said,  "and  he  pretends 
to  be  furious  about  it :  but  of  course  that's  absurd. 
He's  not  really  so  silly  as  to  mind  his  birthday." 

"What  did  you  give  him?"  Dr.  Staminer  asked. 

" I  gave  him  a  cigar-case,"  said  Ann.  "What  else 
is  there  ?  It's  so  difficult  to  get  presents  for  papa." 

"Of  course,"  said  Dr.  Staminer.  "A  well-to-do 
man  of  fifty-two  has  lived  his  life  very  badly  if  there 
is  any  present  that  he  is  really  in  want  of." 

"And  Mrs.  Boody  made  him  a  cake,"  Ann  con 
tinued  ;  "and  he  and  I  had  lunch  together  at  a  swell 
restaurant,  and  then  we  went  to  the  National  Gallery. 
I  always  like  it  on  Fridays  because  the  copyists  are 
at  work  and  I  like  to  see  them.  Some  of  them  are 
so  frightfully  clever.  Papa  has  commissioned  Miss 
Beautiman  to  make  me  a  copy  of  the  little  Cupid  in 
Correggio's  picture.  Wasn't  that  nice  ?  It  was  a  per 
fect  present,  because  it  pleased  her  and  it  pleased  me 
and  it  pleased  him.  After  you're  fifty,  papa  says,  it  is 
one's  duty  to  give  presents  and  not  to  receive  them." 

149 


i$o  MR.  INGLESIDE 

"With  one  enormously  important  exception,"  said 
Mr.  Ingleside,  coming  in  at  this  moment.  "  Isn't  it 
so,  Oast?" 

Richard  Oast  smiled:  "I  shall  never  forgive  my 
self,"  he  said,  "for  not  having  it  ready  this  after 
noon." 

"It  doesn't  matter  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside, 
"especially  as  it's  been  wet.  To-morrow  will  be  fine 
-and  then!" 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  Ann  asked. 

"Wait  and  see,"  said  her  father.  "  '  "To-mor 
row,"  "he  quoted,  "  'is  a  lovely  word,  compared 
with  which  "to-day's"  absurd.'" 

"I  don't  like  growing  old,"  said  Oast  later.  " One 
finds  out  so  many  things.  And  the  worst  of  it  is  that 
however  one  may  suspect,  one  cannot  know  anything 
before  the  time.  There  are  things  about  life  that  one 
may  suspect  at  twenty-five  but  cannot  know  until 
one  is  thirty ;  and  then  again  there  is  a  new  series 
that  one  suspects  at  thirty  but  cannot  know  till  one 
is  forty.  It  is  after  forty  that  the  real  enlighten 
ment  sets  in.  The  worst  suspicions  then  begin  to 
be  proved,  one  by  one.  A  man  of  our  age  who  is  not 
going  to  be  wholly  a  cynic  must  fight  furiously." 

"What  puzzles  me,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "about 
our  age  is  this  :  was  life  always  as  unsatisfactory  and 
fleshy  as  one  then  finds  it  to  be,  or  is  the  world  get 
ting  worse?" 

"The  world,"  said  Dr.  Staminer,  "is  always  the 
same.  There  are  the  same  seaminesses  and  ugli 
nesses  all  the  time,  but  you  have  to  grow  into  a 
knowledge  of  them.  The  ordinary  healthy  person, 


ME.  INGLESIDE  151 

thank  the  stars,  does  not  come  to  observation  of 
them  until  his  youth  is  over.  While  that  lasts  he 
has  other  things  to  think  about.  We  do  not  eat  of 
the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge  until  our  ordinary 
digestion  is  beginning  to  fail  a  little." 

"To  vary  the  epigram,"  said  Leslie,  "might  you 
not  say  that  it  is  not  until  we  have  false  teeth  that  we 
bite  the  apple  of  good  and  evil." 

"Very  good,"  said  Christie. 

"I'm  sorry  you  like  it,"  Leslie  replied,  "because 
now  it  will  go  into  an  article  for  which  you  will  get 
the  credit." 

"I  never  steal,"  said  Christie  ;  "I  always  acknow 
ledge  the  source.  I  shall  certainly  use  your  epigram, 
but  I  shall  attribute  it  to  Sydney  Smith." 

"Why  not  to  me?"  Leslie  asked. 

"Well,  for  two  reasons  at  least.  One  is  that  no 
one  knows  you,  and  it  would  therefore  look  silly ; 
and  the  other  is  that  if  I  did  no  one  would  think  the 
remark  really  witty.  Almost  the  first  thing  that  a 
journalist  needs  is  an  instinct  for  names.  To  men 
tion  'a  name  that  is  not  'up'  is  fatal.  The  public 
so  hate  humour  except  in  papers  which  are  la 
belled  humorous,  and  which  therefore  need  not 
be  humorous  at  all  because  the  label  hypnotizes 
the  reader  into  the  belief  that  what  he  reads  is 
funny  —  the  public  so  hate  humour  and  are  so 
suspicious  of  wit  that  they  have  reduced  the  ac 
ceptable  practitioners  in  those  lines  to  the  smallest 
possible  number.  For  all  practical  purposes,  all 
quoted  jokes  in  newspapers  have  to  be  made  by 
either  Sydney  Smith  or  Sir  William  Gilbert,  and  all 


IS*  MR.  INGLESIDE 

humorous  situations  paralleled  either  in  Dickens 
or  Lewis  Carroll." 

"I  see,"  said  Leslie  sadly.  "But  you  might  give 
me  a  notion  of  what  I  must  do  to  become  well  enough 
known  to  be  quoted." 

"The  best  way  of  all,"  said  Christie,  "is  to  die ; 
but  if  you  could  write  a  funny  play  that  every  one 
went  to  see,  you  would  have  a  chance.  Another  way 
is  to  be  in  some  very  serious  situation  conspicuously 
unassociated  with  jokes  —  such  as  in  the  pulpit  or 
on  the  bench." 

"Then  there  is  no  chance  for  a  wit  per  se?" 

"None.  None  at  all.  England  expects  that 
every  man  will  do  his  duty." 

Mr.  Ingleside  promised  Ann  to  return  early  the 
next  afternoon,  which  was  as  fine  as  they  had  hoped. 

"I  have  at  last,"  he  said,  when  lunch  was  over, 
"I  have  at  last  found  a  compensation  for  being  a 
Government  clerk." 

"  Oh,  father,"  said  Ann,  "  there  are  lots  of  compen 
sations.  There's  the  note-paper,  for  one." 

"This  is  the  first  real  one,"  said  her  father. 
"Note-paper  is  all  very  well,  but  it  incites  one  to 
use  the  pen.  The  compensation  to  which  I  refer 
incites  one  to  lay  the  pen  down." 

"Do  tell  me,"  said  Ann. 

"Come  and  see,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside:  "it's 
Richard  Oast's  present  —  close  by.  Bring  one  of 
our  half -bottles  of  champagne  with  you." 

He  led  the  way  to  Villiers  Street,  through  the 
Underground  station,  across  the  Embankment,  to 
the  Charing  Cross  pier ;  Ann  accompanying  in  a 


MR.  INGLESIDE  153 

kind  of  stupor,  grasping  a  bottle.  They  descended 
the  sloping  gangway  to  the  pier  itself,  which  was 
deserted  save  for  Mr.  Richard  Oast,  M.P.,  sitting 
on  a  barrel,  and  a  young  man  in  a  motor-boat 
moored  to  the  side,  who  smoked  a  cigarette  and 
polished  a  gun-metal  fitting.  Ann  noticed  that  the 
motor-boat  was  quite  new  and  very  smart ;  but 
she  was  still  a  little  dazed  by  the  whole  proceeding, 
complicated  by  the  unashamed  champagne.  Oast 
came  to  meet  them. 

"  Punctual,"  he  said  ;  "  which  is  a  lesson  to  me.  I 
can't  forget  that  this  boat  ought  to  have  been  here 
yesterday.  Are  you  excited,  Ann?" 

" Excited!"  said  Ann.  "Of  course  I  am,  but 
father  won't  explain.  Look  at  this  absurd  bottle." 

"Absurd!"  said  Oast.  "I  like  that!  Why, 
that  is  the  crown  of  most  of  my  work." 

"Champagne?"  Ann  exclaimed. 

Mr.  Oast  laughed.     "Wait,"  he  said. 

"But  where  is  the  present?"  Ann  asked. 

"There,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 

"Where?  "said  Ann. 

"The  latest  toy  and  recreation,"  said  Mr.  Ingle- 
side,  pointing  to  the  boat.  "It's  ours,  Ann;  Mr. 
Oast  has  built  it  for  us,  and  that's  Mr.  Timbs,  the 
engineer.  I  have  permission  from  a  nepotic  col 
league  to  keep  it  here.  We  are  going  a  voyage  in  it 
every  afternoon  after  I  leave  the  office,  and  now 
and  then  we  will  lunch  on  board.  It  is  to  give  us 
fresh  air,  and  make  us  healthy,  and  show  us  the 
mystery  of  ships ;  for  we  shall  of  course  always 
go  down  the  river,  and  not  up.  We  are  going 


154  MR.  INGLESIDE 

for  a  spin  to  the  Pool  now  —  after  you  have 
christened  her." 

"The  champagne?"  said  Ann. 

"Of  course/'  said  her  father.  "You  didn't 
suppose  we  were  going  to  drink  it.  No  need  for 
champagne  when  you  have  a  motor-boat  to  whisk 
you  about  this  beautiful  river." 

"What  do  I  do?"  Ann  asked. 

"You  ought  to  smash  it  over  the  prow,"  said  Mr. 
Ingleside,  "but  that's  very  dangerous.  Timbs  here 
will  knock  the  neck  off. " 

Timbs  dexterously  did  so  and  handed  back  the 
foaming  remnant. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "give  it  a  name." 

"Tellme,"  said  Ann  to  Richard  Oast. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  Ann  and  Alison?"  he 
asked.  "Lots  of  ships  are  named  like  that." 

"It  would  be  so  awfully  personal." 

"Then  the  Respite?" 

"Not  quite  right,"  Ann  thought.  "What  do  you 
say,  father?" 

Mr.  Ingleside  affected  to  think.  "The  Caprice" 
he  said  at  last. 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Ann,  and  she  poured  out  the  cham 
pagne  and  solemnly  named  the  boat  the  Caprice. 

"Get  that  painted  on  it,"  said  Mr.  Oast  to  the 
engineer. 

"It's  a  good  name,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "because 
it  not  only  describes  the  unusual  nature  of  our 
adventure,  but  it  will  excuse  the  boat  when  she 
rams  a  tug  or  a  barge  or  the  Tower  Bridge,  as  she  is 
certain  to  do  before  long.  And  now  for  our  first 


MR.  INGLESIDE  155 

voyage.  In  a  month  I  confidently  expect  to  find 
results  in  health  at  least  equal  to  the  same  time 
in  Switzerland,  without  having  met  a  single 
waiter." 

The  Caprice  fulfilled  all  expectations.  On  the 
muggiest,  dullest  day,  when  there  is  no  air  at  all  in 
the  London  streets,  a  breeze  holds  in  the  middle  of 
the  river,  and  a  motor-boat  meeting  this  can  easily 
increase  it  to  a  gale.  Mr.  Ingleside  grew  visibly 
stronger  and  more  alert,  and  Ann  was  an  understudy 
to  Hygeia.  On  the  sea  Mr.  Ingleside  did  not  hold 
with  motor-boats  at  all ;  they  were  (like  steamers) 
contrary,  he  said,  to  Nature :  Nature  did  not 
desire  anyone  to  go  faster  than  herself.  But  in  the 
Thames  he  approved  of  them :  life  is  as  a  whole 
so  artificial  and  forced  in  London  that  one  is  en 
titled  to  resort  to  artificial  means  to  alleviate  it. 

"Why  you  go  to  the  trouble  of  all  that  explana 
tion,  I  can't  understand,"  said  Richard  Oast,  "ex 
cept  for  the  luxury  of  pampering  your  conscience." 

"No  other  reason,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 

Mr.  Ingleside  could  not  have  had  a  more  satisfy 
ing  present  than  the  Caprice.  It  gave  him  not  only 
health  and  recreation ;  it  gave  him  (so  to  speak)  a 
stake  in  his  beloved  stream :  he  became  a  freeman 
of  the  Thames.  He  now  had  as  much  right  there  as 
any  bargee  ;  any  tug-captain  sardonic  and  steadfast 
at  the  wheel ;  any  inscrutable  and  authoritative 
river  policeman.  He  could  now,  in  conversation 
with  them,  say  "we,"  "our  river,"  "our  Thames." 

The  Caprice's  usual  trip  was  to  Greenwich  and 
back,  and  you  may  do  this  a  hundred  times  a  day 


156  MR.   INGLESIDE 

and  find  it  different  every  time  —  different  craft 
are  met  and  passed ;  different  chaff  thrown  from 
the  bargees ;  and,  best  of  all,  a  different  light  illu 
mines  the  sails  and  spars,  the  bridges  and  the 
wharves,  the  Tower  and  St.  Paul's.  In  the  later 
evening  the  Caprice  sometimes  went  up  to  Chelsea, 
amid  Whistler's  blue  mists. 

Timbs,  the  engineer,  was  a  cheerful,  talkative 
fellow  who  had  been  in  the  Royal  Navy.  He  took 
the  boat  home  to  Twickenham  every  evening  and 
brought  her  back  to  Charing  Cross  pier  every  noon, 
ready  for  the  after-lunch  cruise.  When  he  bared 
his  arms,  it  was,  as  Ann  said,  like  a  picture  gallery, 
so  many  tattooed  devices  were  there  ;  and  he  had 
others  which  Ann  had  not  seen,  and  would  not  see, 
Richard  Oast  told  her  —  including  a  ship  in  full  sail 
on  his  chest,  and  a  snake  all  the  way  up  his  spine 
fascinating  a  bird  of  paradise  between  his  shoulders. 

"Didn't  it  hurt?"  Ann  once  asked  him. 

"Hurt ! "  he  said.  " I  give  you  my  word.  When 
this  was  done  my  arm  was  as  big  as  a  mast." 

"You've  only  got  anchors  and  things,"  said  Ann. 
"You  haven't  got  any  names.  Some  sailors  have 
names  on  their  arms." 

Timbs  smiled  a  sardonic  smile.  "Yes,"  he  said, 
"and  don't  some  of  them  wish  they  hadn't?  Not 
half." 

"Why?"  asked  Ann,  who 'was  incorrigibly  inno 
cent. 

"Why,  Miss?    Well,  I  hardly  like  to  tell  you." 

"Go  on,"  said  Ann. 

"Well,"  said  Timbs,  "suppose  you  was  walking 


MR.  INGLESIDE  157 

out  with  a  girl  named  Polly,  for  example,  and  you 
told  her  she  was  the  only  girl  you  was  ever  soft  on, 
and  one  day  she  catches  sight  of  the  name  of  Fan 
just  under  your  elbow,  what  then?" 

"I  see,"  said  Ann. 

"I've  known  fellows,"  said  Timbs,  "who've  gone 
to  enormous  expense  and  horrible  pain  to  have 
' Eliza,'  say,  tattoed  right  over  '  Maria,'  so  as  to 
blot  'Maria'  clean  out,  with  a  lover's  knot  all  round 
it,  too,  and  then  blowed  if  they  haven't  got  sick 
of  Eliza  in  a  week !  No,  Miss ;  no  wise  man  has 
girls'  names  tattooed  on  him." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IN  WHICH  A  WIDOWER  ACCEPTS  HIS  LOT 
WITH  FORTITUDE  AND  DISMAY 

IT  was  on  their  return  from  a  voyage  in  the  Ca 
price  a  few  days  after  the  birthday  that  Mr. 
Ingleside  found  a  telegram  in  his  rooms.  He  read 
it  and  stood  by  the  window  still  and  silent  for  some 
moments,  while  Ann  waited. 

Then  he  crushed  the  telegram  in  his  hand. 
"Ann,"  he  said,  "your  mother  died  yesterday  in 
Japan.  Alison  is  returning  at  once.  ..." 

Ann  bore  the  news  of  her  mother's  death  as 
tranquilly  as  one  can  at  seventeen,  when  one  has 
never  been  demonstratively  loved.  What  it  chiefly 
meant  to  her  was  the  return  of  Alison,  to  which  she 
looked  forward  with  pleasure.  There  are  so  many 
things  in  London  that  two  contemporaries  can  do 
which  are  unamusing  for  one,  and  Ann  at  present 
knew  no  one  of  her  own  age  except  John,  and  John 
did  not  find  her  quite  so  amenable  as  he  wished. 
She  came  midway  between  the  unattainable  but 
adorable  goddess  which  a  young  man  likes  to  be  a 
slave  to  and  the  slave  that  a  young  man  likes  to  be 
adored  by ;  and  John  was  of  the  age  that  cannot 
bear  compromise.  Besides,  Ann  told  home  truths, 
which  no  wise  woman  ever  does.  In  a  few  years 

158 


MR.  INGLESIDE  159 

she  would  know  better.  John  therefore  was  not  the 
companion  that  Mrs.  Campion  had  foretold,  and 
the  progress  of  the  collection  of  picture  post-cards 
of  pretty  actresses  and  dancers  on  the  walls  of  his 
room  had  not  been  arrested. 

Mr.  Ingleside  said  very  little  about  the  bereave 
ment  ;  but  his  thoughts  were  busy,  and  he  looked 
careworn.  Although  he  had  accepted  the  estrange 
ment,  he  had  never  desired  it.  "Love  comes  un 
seen,"  says  the  poet:  "we  only  see  it  go."  Mr. 
Ingleside  had  seen  it  go,  and  the  spectacle  had  filled 
him  with  hopelessness  and  had  fortified  his  natural 
pessimism.  His  one  steady  wish  was  that  constancy 
might  be  universal ;  stories  of  faithlessness  hurt  him 
far  more  than  tales  of  starvation  and  crime.  The 
failure  of  this  ideal  in  his  own  experience  made  no 
difference  to  his  feelings  concerning  it. 

"For,"  as  he  would  say,  "no  amount  of  thought 
can  either  make  one  love  a  woman  if  one  does  not, 
or  keep  one  in  love  if  one  has  lost  that  emotion. 
One  can  be  solicitous,  thoughtful,  kind,  watchful, 
tender,  protective,  admiring,  sorry ;  but  if  love  has 
gone,  love  has  gone." 

And  again :  "A  bachelor  may  be  lonely  and 
even  miserable  for  a  great  part  of  his  time  :  but  at 
any  rate  he  has  broken  no  promises ;  he  has  not 
stood  at  the  graveside  of  rapture." 

Mr.  Ingleside  did  not  blame  himself  for  the  fiasco 
of  his  own  marriage ;  nor  did  he  pity  himself :  he 
merely  regretted  that  such  things  were  possible.  He 
remembered  only  too  vividly  the  happy  days  before 
the  rift,  the  coolness. 


160  MR.   INGLESIDE 

Mrs.  Ingleside  had  not  been  a  very  clever  woman 
with  men.  She  had  not  the  instinct  of  manage 
ment.  But  it  did  not  occur  to  her  husband  to  fix 
the  blame  on  that.  He  had  loved  her,  she  had  loved 
him ;  he  had  made  her  promises,  she  had  made 
him  promises  ;  and  all  had  gone.  His  quarrel  with 
the  powers  that  be  was,  as  I  say,  that  such  things 
were  possible. 

How  his  wife  had  felt  about  it  he  did  not  know. 
She  had  seemed  contented  enough,  with  her  Italian 
studies,  and  her  novels,  and  her  friends ;  but  was 
she? 

She  had  written  nothing  of  it  in  her  letters. 
Would  Alison  bring  him  one  —  her  last  words  ?  He 
wondered  much. 

Mr.  Ingleside  went  down  to  Bournemouth  to 
arrange  about  the  house  and  furniture.  It  was  a 
melancholy  task,  especially  when  it  came  to  the 
books  and  papers.  There  were  so  many  books  that 
he  had  given  her,  that  they  had  read  together.  The 
inscriptions  cut  him  to  the  heart.  And  yet  — 
again  —  he  did  not  blame  himself.  He  blamed 
fate  and  fate  alone  :  the  gods,  the  stars,  whatever 
it  is  one  blames. 

Her  desk  was  a  terrible  ordeal.  She  had  kept 
everything.  All  his  love-letters  were  there,  tied 
together.  He  untied  the  ribbon.  .  .  .  Had  she 
re-read  them,  he  wondered,  or  was  it  merely  habit 
to  keep  them  —  an  unexamined  sentiment?  But 
there  they  were,  hot  from  his  pen.  .  .  .  He  glanced 
at  one,  but  got  no  farther. 

Mr.  Ingleside  arranged  for  a  sale  of  the  furniture 


ME.  INGLESIDE  161 

and  the  removal  of  the  more  intimate  articles  to 
Buckingham  Street,  and  returned  to  London  in  a 
mood  of  perplexed  melancholy.  He  seemed  unable 
to  close  his  grasp  on  anything.  Always  a  pessimist, 
to-day  had  underscored  his  hopelessness. 

It  was  his  second  loss,  although  the  actual  sever 
ance  had  of  course  come  years  before ;  but  it  is 
impossible  to  discount  death.  Naturally  to  that 
other  loss  his  thoughts  now  turned  more  than  ever. 
He  leaned  over  the  embankment  and  watched  the 
river  until  the  dawn  was  grey,  and  it  was  of  Askill 
that  he  was  thinking.  Where  was  Askill  ?  he  had 
often  wondered ;  but  to-night  the  question  burned 
into  his  brain  with  new  persistency.  Askill  and  he 
had  been  at  school  together,  and  afterwards  at 
college  ;  both  had  settled  in  London.  Mr.  Ingleside 
had  a  warm  affection  for  his  present  friends,  par 
ticularly  Dr.  Stammer,  Thrace,  and  Richard  Oast ; 
but  they  did  not  compare  with  Askill :  they  did 
not  understand  as  he  had  done.  One  friend  must 
always  stand  first,  and  Askill  was  he. 

Askill  had  been  at  the  Bar.  It  was  an  odd  choice 
for  that  type  of  man  —  who  had  much  that  was  ad 
venturous,  so  much  that  was  even  anarchistic,  and  so 
much  that  was  truthful,  among 'his  elements;  but 
his  father,  whom  he  greatly  revered,  had  wished  it, 
and  he  had  allowed  circumstances  to  control  him. 
He  succeeded ;  his  genius  gradually  brought  him 
fame  and  prosperity.  Mr.  Ingleside  alone  knew 
how  little  he  valued  them,  how  powerful  all  the 
time,  but  steadily  more  powerful  as  he  grew  older 
and  time  grew  shorter,  was  the  call  of  the  wild. 


162  MR.  INGLESIDE 

Civilization  irked  him ;  success  shamed  him.  As 
he  had  grown  older  his  impatience  had  increased, 
until  the  day  came  when  the  papers  stated  that  he 
had  been  offered  a  law  lordship.  That  night  he 
disappeared.  At  the  very  moment  when  everything 
that  most  persons  would  think  most  desirable  was 
at  his  feet  he  vanished  from  the  haunts  of  men. 

The  theory  is  that  to  his  odd  mind,  with  its  pas 
sionate  fear,  and  more  than  fear,  abhorrence,  of 
growing  old,  of  settling  down,  of  fossilizing,  of  ceasing 
to  notice  —  this  offer  of  security  and  wealth  and  a 
position  of  honour  wore  something  of  the  same 
sinister  air  that  of  old  in  a  society  where  primitive 
hatreds  flourished  a  warning  written  in  blood  might 
have  had.  It  was  indeed  a  warning  —  the  ultima 
tum  of  the  world  to  its  old  enemy,  the  last  threaten 
ing  word  in  their  long  quarrel.  Reduced  to  the 
simplest  terms,  it  said  :  "I  offer  you  an  honourable 
death.  This  is  the  end  —  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry, 
for  your  youth  is  over,  and  in  thirty  years  at  most 
(which  are  really  thirty  seconds)  you  will  die. 
Here  is  a  gold-mounted  ladder  by  which  you  may 
reach  the  velvet-lined  top  shelf.  Up  with  you, 
and  turn  to  contented  stone.  Call  no  man  dead 
till  he  is  comfortable." 

That  was  six  years  ago,  and  he  had  never  been 
heard  of  since. 

Such  was  Askill's  story.  And  now  he  was  — 
where  ?  Mr.  Ingleside  left  the  river  and  climbed  the 
stairs  of  his  famous  old  house.  "  And  so  to  bed,"  he 
quoted  from  his  illustrious  predecessor  with  a  smile  ; 
but  his  heart  was  very  heavy.  He  belonged  to 
the  older  generation,  and  there  were  none  left. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IN  WHICH  IT  SEEMS  THAT   OLD   LADIES 
TOO  CAN  BE  NAPOLEONIC 

ANN  had  no  sooner  reached  Miss  Beautiman's 
than  she  was  told  to  jump  into  a  cab  and 
drive  at  once  to  Green's  Hotel  in  Bruton  Street  and 
ask  for  Miss  Larpent,  who  needed  a  temporary 
secretary.  Ann  did  so,  and  was  led  into  a  darkened 
bedroom,  in  which  after  a  while  she  discerned  a  ven 
erable  lady  in  bed. 

"Sit  down  at  the  table  there,"  said  the  old  lady, 
"and  I'll  dictate  to  you.  Don't  think  I'm  an  in 
valid,  because  I'm  not.  I've  merely  caught  a  chill 
in  this  horrible  city.  The  letters,  which  I  want 
you  to  take  back  and  type  for  me,  are  to  my  servants, 
who  were  expecting  me  back,  and  who  don't  know 
what  to  do  without  instructions.  They  are  good 
creatures,  but  so  stupid  when  they  are  not  directed. 
We'll  begin  with  the  cook.  Are  you  ready  ?  Then 
begin :  — 

"'DEAR  TANNER,  —  I  am  sorry  to  have  upset  your  plans 
as  I  must  have  done  on  Tuesday,  but  I  have  contracted  a 
chill  which  is  keeping  me  indoors  for  a  few  days.  I  expect 
to  return  on  Monday,  and  should  like  a  leg  of  mutton  roast 
with  plain  boiled  potatoes  and  French  beans.  A  baked 
custard  to  follow.  Everything  is  to  be  as  plain  as  possible, 

163 


164  MR.  INGLESIDE 

to  get  the  taste  of  hotel-cooking  out  of  my  mouth.  For 
Tuesday  you  had  better  order  a  breast  of  lamb ;  but  I  will 
write  again  about  this.  —  I  am,  yours  faithfully, 

'ANTOINETTE  LARPENT.' 

"Tanner  is  a  good  woman/'  said  Miss  Larpent, 
"but  very  limited  in  range.  She  has  no  ideas  be 
yond  beef  and  mutton.  But  then  what  cook  has  ? 
At  any  rate,  she  makes  beef  and  mutton  taste  like 
beef  and  mutton,  which  the  people  here  can't. 
Now  the  coachman  — 

"'DEAR  RIGBY,  —  I  was  sorry  to  disappoint  you  and 
James  and  the  horses  by  not  arriving  yesterday  as  I  intended, 
but  I  have  contracted  a  chill  in  these  draughty  streets,  and 
shall  be  kept  indoors  for,  I  fear,  a  few  days.  I  should  like 
you  to  drive  out  Miss  Pearce  on  Thursday  afternoon, 
Mrs.  Ferris  on  Friday,  and  the  Misses  Keen  on  Saturday. 
You  will  be  interested  to  hear  that  in  London  motor-cabs 
and  other  petrol-driven  vehicles  are  on  the  increase,  so 
that  the  sad  spectacle  of  fallen  horses  is  less  common  than 
of  old.  I  have  been  in  a  motor-cab,  and  indeed  think  it 
was  very  likely  the  speed  of  it  that  gave  me  my  chill ;  but 
nothing  can  reconcile  me  to  the  use  of  these  abominable 
things  in  the  country.  —  Yours  faithfully, 

'ANTOINETTE  LARPENT.' 

"What  I  should  like  to  add,"  said  Miss  Larpent, 
"is  that  I  hope  he'll  look  cheerful  when  he  drives 
those  people  out,  and  refuse  their  tips  (which  they 
can't  in  the  least  afford)  ;  but  it's  no  good  saying 
things  like  that  to  servants.  Now  to  the  gardener  — 

"'DEAR  MUGGERIDGE, — I  am  sorry  not  to  have  paid 
my  morning  visit  on  Wednesday  as  you  must  have  expected, 
but  I  have  been  detained  in  London  by  a  chill  and  shall 
probably  not  see  you  again  till  Tuesday.  I  hope  everything 


ME.  INGLESIDE  165 

is  going  on  well  and  that  Thomas  is  not  idling.  As  we  came 
down  the  drive  last  week  on  our  way  to  the  station  I  noticed  a 
piece  of  groundsel  which  was  very  near  seeding.  I  hope  that 
you  have  by  this  time  destroyed  it.  As  nearly  as  I  can  rec 
ollect,  it  was  opposite  the  fifth  or  sixth  Scotch  fir  from  the 
house,  on  the  left.  Unless  destroyed  before  it  seeds,  it  will 
spread  seriously.  If  you  have  any  really  nice  peaches,  you 
might  send  me  a  basket  to  Green's  Hotel,  Bruton  Street,  W. 
I  should  like  some  flowers  and  fruit  to  go  to  Miss  Pearce,  the 
Misses  Keen,  and  Mrs.  Ferris.  —  I  am,  yours  faithfully, 

'ANTOINETTE  LARPENT.' 

"Now  to  the  parlour  maid.  She's  a  very  good 
girl,  although  she  does  send  far  too  many  things  to 
the  wash  (but  they  all  do  that)  and  never  knows 
whether  a  picture  is  hanging  straight  or  not  — 

"'DEAR  TRIMMER,  —  I  am  sorry  to  have  upset  your 
preparations  by  not  returning  on  Tuesday,  but  I  have 
caught  a  chill  in  London  and  am  confined  to  my  room  for 
a  while.  I  hope  to  return  on  Monday,  and  shall  be  glad  to  be 
at  home  again.  I  shall  probably  go  straight  to  bed,  so  please 
have  a  fire  in  the  room  and  some  yellow  roses.  It  might  be 
a  good  opportunity  now  to  turn  out  both  the  Rose  Room 
and  the  Green  Room,  and  I  have  been  thinking  that  it  is  a 
long  time  since  we  looked  at  my  furs,  so  perhaps  they  had 
better  come  out  and  be  well  examined  for  moths.  —  I  am, 
yours  faithfully,  ANTOINETTE  LARPENT.' 

"Now  to  the  butler  — 

"'DEAR  ROSSITER,  — I  was  sorry  to  have  to  break  my 
word  and  not  return  on  Tuesday  as  promised,  but  I  have 
contracted  a  chill  in  London,  and  must  stay  here,  I  am  afraid, 
till  Monday  next.  Be  sure  to  keep  a  careful  record  of  anyone 
that  calls,  and  inform  them  that  I  am  not  really  ill,  but  my 
medical  man  tells  me  I  must  be  a  little  careful.  As  he  has 
ordered  some  dry  champagne  at  eleven  o'clock  every  morn- 


166  MR.   INGLESIDE 

ing,  I  am  having  some  cases  of  quarter-bottles  sent  down, 
so  you  will  know  what  to  expect.  Lying  awake  last  night, 
I  wondered  if  it  might  not  be  too  heating  food  which  has 
caused  Caro's  eczema,  and  I  think  it  would  be  well  to  try 
some  experiments.  Will  you  therefore  see  that  he  has  no 
actual  meat  for  these  few  days,  but  Tanner  might  prepare 
a  strengthening  gravy  in  which  to  soak  his  bread  and  vege 
tables.  —  I  am,  yours  faithfully,  ANTOINETTE  LARPENT.' 

"There,"  said  Miss  Larpent,  "I  think  that  is  all. 
Oh  no,"  she  added,  "there's  one  more.  To  my 
nephew,  an  officer  on  an  0.  &  P.  boat,  who  has  been 
getting  very  soft  on  one  of  the  passengers  — 

" '  MY  DEAR  BRYAN,  —  You  must  excuse  this  letter  not 
being  in  my  own  hand,  but  I  happen  at  the  moment  to  be  ill 
in  bed,  and  I  am  dictating  it  to  an  amanuensis/ 

—  "  Can  you  spell '  amanuensis/  my  dear  ?  "  asked 
Miss  Larpent.  "If  not,  put  ' secretary/  because 
I'm  sure  I  can't.  — 

"'Your  news  is  interesting  and  not  unexpected.  One 
always  looks  for  letters  of  this  kind  from  sailors,  who  if  they 
had  no  more  control  over  ships  than  over  their  hearts  would 
all  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  You  say  you  would  much 
rather  now  live  on  shore.  I  do  not  intend  to  make  any 
kind  of  proposition  until  I  see  the  girl.  If  I  don't  like  her, 
I  shall  not  care  whether  you  leave  the  sea  or  not.  If  I  like 
her,  I  may  do  something  for  you.  I  may  tell  you  this  at 
any  rate,  that  I  like  her  name  :  that  is,  as  much  of  it  as  you 
tell  me.  I  find  it  difficult  lying  here  in  an  expensive  and  not 
well-managed  hotel  to  believe  that  any  girl  named  Alison  can 
be  other  than  nice  and  gentle;  but  nowadays  there's  no 
knowing.  I  trust  you  will  come  down  to  Cray  Wood  at  the 
earliest  moment  after  reaching  port,  and  that  you  won't 
propose  for  at  least  six  weeks.  —  Your  affectionate  aunt, 

'ANTOINETTE  LARPENT.' 


MR.  INGLESIDE  167 

"Now,"  said  the  old  lady,  "get  back  to  your  office 
and  type  those,  and  then  I  will  sign  them. 

"Tell  me  about  yourself,"  said  the  old  lady,  after 
Ann  had  returned  and  the  letters  were  dispatched, 
"for  of  course  you  were  not  brought  up  to  be  a  typist." 

Ann  told  her. 

"I  wonder,"  said  the  old  lady,  "if  you  could  get  a 
day  or  two  off  from  your  work  and  help  me  with  my 
shopping.  I  intend,  whatever  the  doctors  say,  to 
get  up  for  lunch  on  Friday  and  shop  afterwards  and 
shop  again  on  Saturday  morning.  Then  I  shall  go 
to  bed  again  and  rest  till  Monday,  when  I  go  home. 
Do  you  think  you  could  give  me  Friday  afternoon 
and  Saturday  morning?" 

Ann  said  she  would  ;  and  on  Friday  she  presented 
herself  at  one  o'clock  to  lunch  with  the  old  lady  and 
begin  her  duties. 

They  did  the  ordinary  kind  of  shopping  first,  in  a 
little  coupe  ("No  more  taxis  for  me,"  said  Miss 
Larpent),  and  then  she  told  the  man  to  drive  to 
a  street  off  the  Brompton  Road. 

"This  is  an  old  curiosity  shop,  my  dear,"  she  said, 
"kept  by  a  great  friend  of  mine  whom  I  always 
visit  when  I  come  to  town  —  Miss  Ming." 

"Miss  Ming,"  said  Ann,  "why,  I  know  Miss 
Ming  !  Father  often  gets  little  things  from  her.  I 
shall  be  very  glad  to  see  her  again." 

"My  gracious!"  Miss  Ming  exclaimed.  "Miss 
Larpent !  How  are  you  ?  I  am  pleased  to  see 
you.  And  Miss  Ingleside  too  !  I  never  knew  that 
you  knew  each  other.  Why,  Miss  Larpent,  I  was 
thinking  of  you  only  yesterday ;  in  fact,  I  nearly 


168  MR.  INGLESIDE 

wrote.  I've  just  got  a  collection  of  comfit  boxes  in 
Chelsea  enamel  —  perfect  darlings  every  one  of 
them  —  I  never  saw  better.  'They're  the  very 
thing  for  Miss  Larpent,'  I  said  directly  I  saw  them. 
The  dears!" 

"No,  no,"  said  Miss  Larpent.  "I'm  too  old  to 
be  caught  like  that." 

"It's  gospel,  I  assure  you,"  Miss  Ming  protested. 
"But  look  at  them." 

"They're  very  attractive,"  said  Miss  Larpent, 
"but  how  can  I  buy  enamel  when  I've  got  a  nephew 
who  wants  to  marry  and  hasn't  a  penny  to  bless 
himself  with?" 

"The  poor  young  fellow,"  said  Miss  Ming.  "I'd 
much  rather  he  was  made  happy  than  that  you 
should  buy  anything  of  me." 

"Well,"  cried  Miss  Larpent,  "if  the  millennium 
hasn't  arrived  !" 

"I  mean  it,"  said  Miss  Ming  stoutly.  "I'd  like 
all  the  young  people  to  be  happily  married,  bless 
their  hearts.  But  here's  a  pretty  thing  I  put  on  one 
side  for  you  the  other  day,"  and  opening  a  drawer 
Miss  Ming  extracted  a  tissue-paper  parcel  contain 
ing  a  sampler.  "There,"  she  said,  " '  Gertrude  Jane 
Larpent,  aged  eleven.'  Is  that  one  of  your  ancestors, 
do  you  think?" 

"Do  I  think!"  exclaimed  Miss  Larpent.  "It's 
my  own  great-grandfather's  sister.  Where  did  you 
get  it?" 

Miss  Ming  explained  that  it  came  in  with  several 
others.  "I  always  look  at  the  names,"  she  con 
tinued,  "they're  so  old-fashioned  and  quaint.  I 


MR.  INGLESIDE  169 

like  to  think  of  the  little  mites  sitting  down  to  them 
in  their  funny  little  high  waists  and  pushing  their 
needles  in  and  out  so  patiently.  The  pets !  And 
to  think  we  should  be  framing  their  samplers  to-day 
and  hanging  them  up  like  pictures.  Who'd  have 
thought  it  ?  But  there's  precious  little  done  by  the 
children  of  this  day  that  anyone  will  want  in  a  hun 
dred  years'  time.  Has  it  ever  struck  you,"  Miss 
Ming  inquired,  "that  in  a  hundred  years'  time  it 
will  be  just  the  same  things  that  I  am  selling  now 
that  the  old  curiosity  shops  will  have?  It  won't 
be  anything  that  is  being  made  now.  Isn't  that  a 
pity? 

"Now  here's  a  little  darling,"  she  said,  taking 
up  a  bead  purse.  "Doesn't  that  tempt  you? 
Or  this  ?  "  holding  a  blue  bowl  to  the  light.  "  Isn't 
that  sweet?"  And  so  she  rambled  on,  displaying 
and  fondling  one  treasure  after  another. 

The  old  lady  bought  several  things,  including  a 
set  of  ivory  lace  bobbins  with  a  lover's  message 
on  each,  and  a  little  disc  of  silk  with  "My  True 
Heart"  embroidered  on  it  that  a  girl  dead  these 
hundred  years  had  given  her  lover,  dead  too,  to 
wear  inside  his  watch. 

"But  what  I  really  want,"  she  said,  "is  one  of 
those  little  weather  houses  with  an  old  man  and  an 
old  woman  in  it  that  we  used  to  see  in  the  cottages. 
I  want  to  give  it  to  a  great-nephew." 

Miss  Ming  was  nonplussed.  She  had  no  notion 
where  to  get  one. 

"Fancy  Miss  Ming  not  knowing!"  exclaimed 
Miss  Larpent.  "  I  made  sure  you  could  tell  me." 


i7o  MR.  INGLESIDE 

"I  think  I  can  find  out,"  said  Ann,  thinking  of 
Leslie's  curious  gift  of  omniscience  in  all  such 
matters ;  and  sure  enough  she  was  right. 

"Those  little  weather  houses?"  said  Leslie. 
"You've  come  to  the  very  man.  You  have  to  go 
to  Houndsditch  for  them.  On  the  right  side  from 
Bishopsgate,  a  little  way  along,  there's  a  large 
toy  shop  with  a  Scotch  name.  That's  the  place. 
They're  made  in  Germany  nowadays,  but  they're 
none  the  worse  for  that.  Sixpence  halfpenny  each." 

"How  clever  you  are  !"  said  Ann. 

"Only  so  long  as  you  ask  me  questions  I  can 
answer,"  said  Leslie. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IN  WHICH  ALISON  RETURNS   FROM 
THE  EAST 

THE  Caprice  played  a  great  part  in  the  return  of 
Alison,  for  Mr.  Ingleside  and  Ann  went  down 
to  Tilbury  in  it  to  bring  her  back.  Ann  felt  like  a 
modern  Queen  Elizabeth  on  her  way  to  review  the 
forces. 

Alison,  who  had  learned  by  letter  that  she  was  to 
be  carried  back  to  London  by  water,  was  looking 
over  the  taffrail.  Ann  saw  her  while  they  were  still 
a  long  way  off  and  waved  her  handkerchief.  Alison 
waved  in  reply.  A  young  man  in  uniform  was 
standing  beside  her,  and  they  saw  him  soon  after 
move  away. 

Ann  remained  with  Timbs  in  the  boat  and  Mr. 
Ingleside  boarded  the  vessel. 

Alison  sprang  to  meet  him  and  hid  her  face  on  his 
shoulder.  He  saw  at  once  that  she  was  older.  She 
had  always  been  an  emotional  girl,  quite  different 
from  Ann,  who  took  life  as  it  came :  her  recent 
experiences  had  not  reduced  that  characteristic,  but 
had  made  her  graver. 

Alison  kept  him  waiting  while  she  said  good-bye 
to  a  number  of  the  passengers  and  the  young 

171 


172  MR.  INGLESIDE 

officer,  and  then  Mr.  Ingleside  took  her  to  the 
Caprice  and  left  her  with  Ann  while  Timbs  and  he 
arranged  for  the  dispatch  of  the  trunks  to  London. 

Alison  was  no  sooner  alone  with  Ann  than  she 
broke  down.  She  had  been  through  a  very  trying 
period,  and  was  glad  to  have  her  father's  company, 
even  though  he  gave  nothing  away,  and  even  more 
glad  to  have  Ann's  strong  young  arms  round  her 
neck.  She  sat  in  the  boat  with  Ann  holding  her  and 
crying  a  little,  silently,  for  quite  a  long  time. 

Then  they  started.  It  was  late  afternoon,  in 
perfect  weather.  They  tore  swifty  up  the  golden 
stream,  often  into  the  very  eye  of  the  sun,  towards 
the  beautiful  cloud  of  mist  that  was  London.  Under 
the  influence  of  the  strange  scene  and  the  excite 
ment  of  this  unwonted  means  of  returning  home, 
and  warmed  by  the  presence  of  those  whom  she 
loved  and  who  loved  her,  Alison  grew  happier. 
Her  natural  vivacity  began  to  return,  and  when 
they  reached  Charing  Cross  she  was  talking  gaily. 

She  set  her  feet  firmly  one  before  the  other  as  they 
walked  from  the  pier  to  Buckingham  Street,  with 
that  pleasure  in  the  old  earth  which  one  knows  to 
the  full  only  after  a  long  voyage  or  a  very  bad 
crossing.  It  was  delightful  to  be  so  near  home : 
Ann  had  pointed  out  the  windows  while  they  were 
still  on  the  Caprice;  delightful  to  return  under  such 
untoward  and  charming  conditions.  Her  father 
might  not  be  very  demonstrative ;  he  might  be 
more  wrapped  up  in  himself  than  many  girls'  fathers 
were ;  but  he  did  have  the  most  attractive  ideas. 
Who  else  in  this  world  would  meet  his  daughter  at 


MR.  INGLESIDE  173 

Tilbury  in  a  motor-boat  and  bring  her  home  to 
Charing  Cross  in  it  ? 

4  And  here  was  London,  with  its  crowds  of  human 
beings,  and  its  shop  windows,  its  piers,  its  tall  men, 
its  concerts  and  theatres,  its  tea-rooms  and  choco 
late,  its  circulating  libraries,  and  almost  above  all 
its  reputation  for  fascinating  fogs. 

So  Alison's  thoughts  ran  as  she  stamped  almost 
like  a  German  soldier  from  Charing  Cross  pier  to 
Buckingham  Street. 

Everything  about  her  father's  abode  pleased  her, 
and  her  own  room,  on  which  Ann  had  spent  much 
thought  and  care,  gave  her  a  new  thrill  of  satisfac 
tion.  How  homely  it  seemed,  after  her  cabin  on 
the  ship  and  after  the  hotels  she  had  stayed  in  since 
she  left  England  on  that  sad  expedition.  A  room 
without  a  mosquito  net  —  how  adorable  !  A  floor 
that  did  not  move  up  and  down  —  how  extraordi 
narily  comfortable  !  And  in  addition  to  all  this, 
a  secret.  No  wonder  Alison  was  happier. 

The  anxiety  which  Mrs.  Boody  had  felt  when  Ann 
returned  to  her  father's  roof  was  renewed  when 
Alison  appeared.  Here  was  a  more  serious  danger  : 
a  daughter  really  grown  up. 

"You'll  be  wanting  to  take  the  housekeeping  into 
your  own  hands,  won't  you,  Miss?"  she  said. 

"Why?"  was  Alison's  disconcerting  if  satisfac 
tory  reply. 

"Oh,  well,  Miss,  young  ladies  like  to  manage  for 
their  pas,"  said  Mrs.  Boody.  "And  it's  practice 
too,"  she  added. 

"I'll  watch  you,  I  think,"  Alison  said.     "I'm 


174  MR.  INGLESIDE 

sure  you  do  it  splendidly,  and  you've  done  it  so 
long.  Unless,  of  course,  you  want  to  give  it 
up  .  .  .?" 

"There  are  times,  Miss/'  said  Mrs.  Boody,  "when 
I've  lost  heart;  when  your  pa's  had  no  appetite 
whatever ;  but  I  came  to  him  to  be  his  housekeeper, 
and  his  housekeeper  I'm  prepared  to  be  to  the  end. 
But,  of  course,  blood  has  claims  before  —  before 
employees.  That  I'm  well  aware  of.  And  that's 
why  I  spoke  as  I  did." 

"Please  go  on,  Mrs.  Boody,"  said  Alison.  "We 
had  the  nicest  dinner  last  evening  I  have  had  for 
months." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  Miss,  very  glad,"  said  Mrs. 
Boody.  "And  a  change  too,  I'm  sure,  after  having 
everything  boiled  in  sea-water,  as  I  suppose  you've 
been  doing.  Couldn't  you  tell  me  now  of  any  little 
thing  you  particularly  fancied,  and  I  would  get  it 
for  you  ?  Miss  Ann,  now,  your  sister,  she  dotes  on 
sausages  for  breakfast.  Is  there  anything  you 
prefer  to  anything  else  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Alison,  "so  long  as  it's  all  English." 

For  a  few  days  Mr.  Ingleside's  life  was  entirely 
changed,  Alison  dragged  him  so  determinedly  forth 
to  explore  London.  These  excursions  had  filled  her 
mind  ever  since  the  vessel  left  Japan ;  and  now 
was  the  opportunity.  An  interesting  Englishman 
who  was  travelling  from  Japan  to  China  added 
fuel  to  the  flame  by  the  enthusiasm  with  which  he 
too  had  recalled  London  and  desired  to  return; 
but  not  for  three  years  would  he  be  free  to  get  there. 

The  Cafe  Royal  was  the  centre  of  his  paradise : 


MR.  INGLESIDE  175 

once  again  to  stroll  in  at  five  o'clock,  when  the  place 
was  filling  up  and  the  dominoes  beginning  to  rattle, 
and  watch  through  his  cigar  smoke  the  strange 
cosmopolitan  crowd.  To  do  that  in  the  afternoon  ; 
in  the  evening  to  drift  into  a  theatre  or  music  hall, 
and  for  supper  a  grilled  bone.  Simple  tastes  ;  but 
how  far  from  the  grasp  in  Hong  Kong  ! 

"It's  quite  on  the  cards,"  he  said,  "that  I  should 
want  to  be  back  here  again  before  very  long ;  but 
until  I  did  !  .  .  .  The  awful  thing  about  London," 
he  added,  "is  that  when  I  am  there  I  can't  leave  it. 
I  disregard  family  ties  ;  I  break  engagements.  My 
people,  who  live  in  the  country,  want  to  see  me, 
and  I  make  excuses.  I  even  get  to  the  station  and 
—  return  to  my  hotel ;  or  I  go  down  one  day  and 
invent  a  pretext  to  hurry  back  on  the  next. 

"How  I  envy  you,  Miss  Ingleside !  And  in  a 
way  you  are  luckier  than  I,  for  you  know  London 
so  little,  and  therefore  one  of  the  hard  things  won't 
affect  you  :  I  mean  the  loss  of  landmarks.  Every 
time  I  go  back  there  are  new  streets,  changed 
streets,  old  houses  rebuilt,  old  theatres  (this  is  the 
worst)  rebuilt.  I  can't  bear  that." 

Without  such  talk  Alison  would  still  have  wanted 
her  London  banquet,  but  this  wistful  exile  increased 
her  longing ;  and  Mr.  Ingleside  was  dazed  by  the 
intensity  of  their  sight-seeing.  At  last,  after  being 
led  in  one  hour  into  five  city  churches,  he  gave  it  up. 

"No,"  he  said,  "no  more.  I  am  a  Londoner,  and 
Londoners  don't  do  these  things.  We  are  the  hap 
pier  for  knowing  that  near  at  hand  are  museums 
and  churches,  but  we  don't  enter  them.  A  picture 


i76  MB.  INGLESIDE 

gallery  now  and  then,  yes  ;  a  concert ;  even  a  play. 
But  no  more  Wren  interiors.  My  idea  of  Wren  is 
an  inspired  deviser  of  white  stone  spires  on  which 
the  afternoon  light  falls  very  beautifully  and  the 
soot  accumulates  with  perfect  discretion.  No  more. 
Never  ask  me  to  go  inside  a  Wren  church  again. 
The  Abbey,  yes ;  but  no  more  aldermanic  dormi 
tories.  No,  if  you  must  rush  about  London,  get 
John  Campion.  He's  got  nothing  to  do,  or  if  he 
has,  he  will  with  punctuality  and  dispatch  cease  to 
do  it." 

Mr.  Ingleside  was  right. 

"Of  course,  if  Miss  Ingleside  wants  me,  I  must 
go,"  John  said  to  his  mother.  "After  all,  she's 
just  had  a  bereavement,  and  people  should  be  kind  to 
her.  It's  a  great  nuisance  to  give  up  this  afternoon's 
engineering  work,  but  I  will  do  it." 

John  therefore  returned  home  to  lunch,  changed 
into  his  best  Bond  street  suit  and  green  socks  with 
silver  clocks,  and  was  at  Buckingham  Street  at 
three.  By  four  o'clock  he  had  decided  that  Alison 
was  worth  cultivating. 

"A  very  sensible  girl,"  he  told  his  mother. 
"Not  a  bit  like  Ann,  always  trying  to  score  off  you. 
The  kind  of  girl  I  like  :  a  good  listener." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

IN   WHICH   ALISON   HAS   NO   CHANCE   TO 
RELATE  THE   STORY  OF  HER  TRAVELS 

ALISON'S  return  pleased  every  one  ;  but  after 
her  own  family  Henry  Thrace  and  Vycount 
Ramer  were  perhaps  made  the  happiest  by  it.  She 
had  always  been  their  darling,  and  they  vied  with 
each  other  in  attentions.  Surely  we  want  a  word  to 
describe  these  courtesies  of  affection,  as  distin 
guished  from  love.  Neither  had  the  faintest  thought 
of  marriage  ;  but  their  homage  and  assiduity  would 
have  disgraced  many  a  professed  Romeo.  Nor  had 
they  any  jealousy.  If  Henry  Thrace  brought 
roses,  only  to  find  Ramer's  roses  —  and  more  beauti 
ful  ones  —  on  the  table,  he  did  not  glower,  but 
laughed  at  his  ill-luck ;  if  Ramer  brought  Lindt 
chocolate,  and  found  that  Henry  had  stolen  a 
march  on  him  with  Marquis,  he  laughed  too. 

Whether  or  not  either  of  these  gentle  bachelors 
had  ever  had  an  affaire  no  one  knew  for  certain ; 
but  among  those  with  whom  the  wish  is  father  to  the 
thought  (and  London  drawing-rooms  are  full  of 
them)  they  were  each  credited  with  an  old  romance. 
Many  a  woman  would  still  be  glad  to  take  Ramer  in 
hand  and  see  that  a  clothes-brush  and  he  sometimes 
met,  and  even  organize  the  business  side  of  his  life, 
now  hopelessly  in  disarray ;  but  Thrace,  they 

N  177 


178  MR.  INGLESIDE 

felt,  was  single  beyond  redemption,  and  one  knew 
instinctively  that  no  woman  living  could  make  even 
the  minutest  addition  to  his  dressing-table. 

With  Ann  they  were  both  facetious  ;  chaff  was  the 
staple  diet.  But  with  Alison  they  were  solicitous 
and  gravely  humorous.  That  was  the  difference. 

If  Alison  caused  any  heart  in  this  little  sodality  to 
beat  the  faster,  it  was  Christie's  ;  but  Christie  was 
not  a  commanding  personality.  He  fell  midway 
between  a  woman's  needs :  not  strong  enough  to 
control  nor  weak  enough  to  need  protection ;  he 
was  just  that  dull  thing,  an  ordinarily  capable 
person.  Also  he  was  so  busy  with  his  journalism 
and  general  acquisitiveness  as  to  give  the  impression 
of  being  self-sufficing.  Such  men  do  not  win 
women :  they  acquire  them  in  the  day's  work, 
so  to  speak.  But  the  noble  sport  of  winning  women 
has  gone  out,  anyway. 

Christie,  however,  so  far  leaned  towards  Alison 
as  to  interrupt  his  ordinary  routine  of  old  book  and 
old  print  and  old  water-colour  hunting,  to  take 
her  to  a  matinee  now  and  then,  with  tickets  that  cost 
him  nothing,  and  even  to  wonder  to  what  extent 
marriage  would  interfere  with  his  well-ordered  life. 

Between  the  three  Alison  had  a  delightful  time, 
especially  as  Dr.  Stammer's  courtly  kindness  was 
always  at  her  call  too,  and  Leslie's  quick  sympathy, 
and  the  tender  raillery  of  her  father. 

Old  Mrs.  Ingleside  was  also  glad  to  see  Alison 
again,  for  Alison  was  her  first  and  for  some  time  her 
only  grandchild,  and  she  had  been  very  proud  of  her. 
"Well,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "to  think  of  your  having 


MR.   INGLESIDE  179 

been  all  that  distance !  Why,  I'm  nearly  sixty 
years  older  than  you,  and  the  farthest  from  home 
I  ever  went  was  Florence.  Firenze,  as  they  call  it 
there.  That's  one  of  the  oddest  things —  isn't  it  ? — 
that  great  and  important  cities  should  have  different 
names  in  different  countries.  Just  think,  London  is 
Londres  in  French  ;  and  Paris  is  Paris  here,  Parry  in 
French,  and  Parigi  in  Italian.  The  funny  thing  is 
that  it's  only  the  big  places  that  have  so  many 
names :  the  little  ones  are  the  same  everywhere. 
Hove,  for  example  —  not  that  Hove  is  little  —  Hove, 
for  example,  is  Hove  everywhere. 

"And  your  mother.  Oh,  my  dear,  how  sad ! 
To  die  out  there  in  that  foreign  land,  where  I'm 
told  the  houses  are  made  of  paper.  How  dreadful 
to  die  so  far  from  home  comforts,  and  all  among 
idolaters  too !  It's  not  dying  properly,  is  it  ? 
And  what  a  trial  for  you,  my  dear.  And  mourning, 
too !  So  far  as  I  have  observed  —  and  there's 
an  excellent  Japanese  bazaar  in  the  Western  Road  — 
the  Japanese  have  only  the  very  gayest  colours,  not 
in  the  least  suitable  for  funerals. 

"But  after  all,  I  sometimes  wonder  whether  black 
is  as  important  as  we  were  brought  up  to  think. 
I  remember  hearing  the  American  preacher  Ward 
Beecher  say  that  we  ought  to  wear  white  and  be 
joyful  when  another  of  our  friends  entered  paradise  ; 
but  that  takes  no  account  of  a  personal  bereavement, 
does  it,  my  dear?  Very  nice  in  the  pulpit,  when 
every  one's  well  and  excited,  no  doubt.  But  of 
course  mourning  can  be  overdone.  I  remember 
the  stuffiness  of  two  widows  in  a  railway  carriage  in 


i8o  MR.   INGLESIDE 

France,  when  I  was  there  with  your  grandfather. 
So  much  cripe  that  it  seemed  to  sop  up  the  air  like 
a  sponge. 

"I  hope  you  found  some  nice  people  in  Japan  to 
give  you  help,  and  an  English  doctor.  I  always  felt 
that  the  long  voyage  was  a  mistake,  but  I  didn't 
think  it  would  end  like  this.  A  little  yellow  people, 
are  they  not  ?  Very  ingenious  and  quick ;  but 
not  a  nice  nation  to  die  among.  I  have  a  set  of 
ivory  chess-men  from  Japan  —  most  wonderful. 
And  those  balls  within  balls  —  as  extraordinary  as  a 
freak  of  nature.  Well,  well,  and  so  your  poor 
mother  lies  there  !  I  pictured  many  things  for  her 
in  my  time,  but  never  a  Japanese  cemetery.  Well, 
well.  Such  little  men,  too,  for  bearers  !  I  wonder 
they  could  manage  it.  But  perhaps  some  of  the 
English  sailors  helped.  You  must  tell  me  about  it 
all  some  day.  Not  now  —  it  is  too  recent. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  bonny,  my  dear. 
And  your  dear  father,  how  is  he  ?  And  dear  Ann  ? 
I  haven't  seen  your  dear  father  for  a  fortnight  at 
least,  but  he  writes  every  day.  Such  a  clear  hand, 
my  dear  ;  so  different  from  your  mother's.  I  never 
could  be  quite  sure  of  what  she  said.  That 
dreadful  day  when  I  waited  for  her  for  so  long  at 
Redmayne's,  and  it  seems  she  wrote  Debenham's. 
Not  at  all  alike,  are  they  ?  but  really  such  difficult 
sideways  stuff.  As  I  told  her  more  than  once,  it 
would  have  been  perfectly  right  if  she'd  only 
added  Freebody's ;  but  she  was  so  refined  she 
could  never  bring  herself  to  say  it,  much  less  write 
it  in  cold  blood.  Well,  well,  poor  dear. 


MR.   INGLESIDE  181 

"And  dear  Ann.  I'm  so  sorry  to  find  that,  in  spite 
of  all  I  said,  she  goes  on  with  her  typewriting. 
That's  not  work  for  a  lady.  I  very  much  object  to 
the  activity  of  the  young  girls  to-day.  There's  not 
one  that  knows  how  to  sit  in  a  chair  and  keep  her 
hands  still,  as  I  was  taught  to  do.  They're  always 
bustling.  And  the  interest  they  take,  or  pretend 
to  take,  in  everything  !  Games,  theatres,  concerts, 
books,  photography,  cycling.  Even  motoring.  I 
assure  you  I  have  more  than  once  seen  women 
driving  motor-cars  on  the  Front.  So  bold  and  dar 
ing.  And  men  sitting  beside  them  laughing  and 
talking  as  if  it  were  quite  safe.  Most  extraordinary  ! 

"I  hope  Ann  does  not  drive  this  new  motor-boat 
which  that  Socialist  friend  of  his  gave  to  your  dear 
father.  A  nice  present  for  a  Government  official ! 
I'm  always  so  afraid  that  the  chiefs  of  the  Depart 
ment  will  get  to  hear  of  this  unfortunate  intimacy 
and  ask  your  father  to  leave.  Bombs,  you  know, 
my  dear.  He  tells  me  in  a  letter  that  it  can  go 
twenty  knots  an  hour,  which  is  terrific,  Miss  Airey 
informs  me.  Her  uncle  is  a  captain,  you  know,  and 
she  understands  knots.  Don't  let  dear  Ann  take 
the  tiller,  or  whatever  it  is,  will  you,  my  dear? 
That  is,  if  you  have  any  influence  over  her.  And 
don't  you  go  in  for  sport  and  politics  and  manly 
things.  But  I  don't  think  you  will.  You  look 
much  more  old-fashioned  than  dear  Ann.  I  hope 
you  are.  Ann  is  so  independent.  I  like  girls  to 
wait  till  they're  spoken  to  and  to  blush  a  little  now 
and  then. 

"Now  tell  me  all  about  your  travels.     India  must 


i82  MR.  INGLESIDE 

be  glorious,  but  bad  for  the  liver,  I  understand. 
Such  yellow  faces  those  Anglo-Indians  bring  back. 
There  are  several  of  them  here  in  Hove,  where  one 
can  be  reserved  and  refined  on  so  little.  That 
wonderful  tower  at  Delhi  —  but  I  suppose  you 
did  not  get  there  —  I'm  never  sure  how  to  pronounce 
it ;  TAJ  it's  spelt.  Tarj,  I  suppose.  But  you 
didn't  see  that.  And  Simla  —  we  had  friends  at 
Simla  for  years,  the  Witheringtons.  The  tallest 
woman  I  ever  knew,  but  quite  nice." 

So  the  old  lady  ran  on,  and  Alison  did  her  best  to 
keep  her  attention  on  the  words  ;  but  if  she  nodded 
now  and  again  as  the  landau  swayed  and  jolted, 
who  shall  blame  her  ?  Even  Chinese  grandchildren 
must  be  frail  at  times. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

IN  WHICH  GARRULOUS  SYMPATHY  IS 
BROUGHT  FROM  THE  SEVEN  SISTERS 
ROAD 

"  pLEASE,   Miss,"  said   Mrs.  Boody,  "there's 

JL     a  lady  to  see  you  named  Wyborn." 

"Wyborn,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "That's  not  a 
name  :  it's  a  problem." 

"Wyborn,"  said  Mrs.  Boody.  "She  says  she 
was  once  the  young  ladies'  nurse." 

"Why,  its  Sarah !"  cried  Alison.  "I'll  go  and 
bring  her  up." 

"Her  name  used  to  be  Fletcher,"  said  Mr.  Ingle- 
side.  "I  remember  a  visit  from  her  father,  who 
thought  that  as  I  was  an  obscure  clerk  in  a  Gov 
ernment  Office,  I  could  get  his  uncle  a  post  as 
keeper  of  the  Town  Council  Park  at  Bury  St. 
Edmunds." 

Alison  dragged  Sarah  into  the  room. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  she  said.  "  Good  morning, 
Miss  Ann.  Hearing  that  your  ma  had  passed  away, 
I  thought  I  would  call  and  say  how  sorry  I  was. 
Wyborn  too.  Not  that  he  knew  her,  but  I've  told 
him  so  much  about  you  all  that  he  feels  it  deeply." 

"And  so  you're  married?"  said  Mr.  Ingleside 
as  he  rose  to  go. 

183 


i84  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"Yes,  sir,  three  years  ago.  We  have  a  small  shop 
where  we  sell  newspapers,  tobacco,  and  sweets. 
And  picture  post-cards.  Frederick  Wyborn's  his 
name.  23  Pilgrim  Lane,  just  off  the  Seven  Sisters 
Road." 

"It's  a  little  too  far  away  for  him  to  supply  me," 
said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "But  if  ever  I'm  in  that  part 

of  the  world "  And  so  saying  he  went  off 

to  what  Christie  called  his  "alleged  duties." 

Mrs.  Wyborn  took  a  chair  and  settled  down  to  a 
good  talk,  which  was  largely  reminiscence  of  the 
girls'  childhood.  But  she  came  in  time  to  herself 
and  her  own  affairs.  Wyborn  was  much  younger 
than  she.  She  had  met  him,  she  said,  at  a  friend's 
wedding.  He  was  only  a  grocer's  clerk  then,  but 
full  of  clever  ideas.  It  was  he  who  arranged  with  an 
Italian  piano-organist  to  play  outside  the  wedding 
party's  house  for  the  whole  evening  for  seven  and  six 
—  so  that  there  could  be  dancing  and  no  one  could 
say  they  didn't  have  music.  She  had  married  him, 
said  Sarah,  because  she  knew  he  was  clever  and 
would  go  ahead.  They  had  bought  the  business 
with  her  savings.  There  was  a  pamphlet  about  it 
called  How  to  become  a  Tobacconist  on  £20,  and  they 
had  read  that  first.  They  read  it  in  the  Park  on 
Sundays.  The  tobacconist's,  sweet-seller's,  and 
newsagent's  were  three  of  the  businesses  that  re 
quired  no  experience  whatever.  Insurance  agency 
was  another,  and  Wyborn  hoped  to  add  that  soon. 

"  I  hope  you're  not  sufferingettes,  dearies,"  said 
Sarah,  with  concern.  "But  knowing  how  odd 
your  pa  was,  I  was  half  afraid.  Wyborn  says  they 


MR.   INGLESIDE  185 

ought  to  be  pole-axed.  I  don't  go  as  far  as  that, 
but  I  do  call  it  dreadful,  the  way  they  go  on.  I  read 
about  it  in  the  papers  while  I'm  waiting  for  cus 
tomers.  It's  a  most  litery  life  for  me.  You've 
no  idea  how  many  serials  I  keep  going  at  once ; 
although  now  and  then  I  have  to  sell  the  last  copy 
before  I've  come  to  the  end  of  the  instalment. 
That's  a  great  blow." 

Alison  asked  how  Sarah  had  heard  of  their  be 
reavement. 

"Well,  Miss,"  said  Sarah,  "I  had  it  from  Eliza, 
who  used  to  be  the  cook  at  Bournemouth,  you 
remember.  Eliza's  mistress  saw  it  in  the  Times. 
I  don't  see  the  Times  myself.  We're  not  often 
asked  for  that.  Threepence  is  a  lot  of  money  in 
our  part.  We  don't  do  much  with  the  pennies 
either,  except  the  Telegraph,  and  the  Morning  Post 
on  servants'  days.  No,  our  line's  the  ha'pennies, 
morning  and  evening.  But  the  real  profit  comes 
from  the  weeklies  —  the  Forget-me-nots  and  Home 
Notes  for  the  women,  and  the  Lloyds1  and  Reynolds' 's, 
what  can  be  read  in  bed  by  the  men  of  a  Sunday 
morning.  That's  what  we  do  best  with.  Isn't  it 
funny,  dearies,  to  think  of  your  old  Sarah  distribu 
ting  reading  like  this?" 

"Have  you  any  babies  ?"   Alison  asked. 

Sarah's  face  fell.  "No,  deary,  I  haven't,  and  that's 
my  cross.  It's  that  that  gives  me  time  to  read 
so  much.  It  makes  me  miserable  often  to  think 
that  here  I  am  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  in  the 
midst  of  unlimited  goodies,  and  no  one  of  my  own 
to  give  them  to.  Not  that  I  should  let  the  little 


i86  MR.  INGLESIDE 

precious  have  too  many  of  them.  Oh  dear,  no ! 
Bad  for  his  little  teeth.  But  a  few,  now  and  then, 
just  for  a  treat,  wouldn't  hurt  him,  and  might  keep 
him  quiet  when  disposed  to  be  fractious.  But  there, 
what's  the  use  of  talking,  when  there's  no  little 
precious  to  talk  about?" 

"Poor  Sarah  !"  said  Alison. 

"Well,  deary,  sometimes,  you  know,  "  said  Sarah, 
"  I  think  perhaps  it's  a  mercy,  when  I  read  the  papers 
and  see  the  dreadful  things  people  are  up  to. 
He  might  grow  up  into  a  bad  character,  you  know, 
and  how  awful  that  would  be !  The  shocking 
murders  !  The  Hatton  Garden  burglaries  !  —  sup 
pose  he  were  to  do  any  of  them?  Or  suppose  he 
was  to  become  one  of  those  anarchists  and  throw  a 
bomb  at  the  King,  God  bless  him  !  No,  it's  getting 
to  be  such  a  terrible  place  that  I'm  often  relieved 
to  think  he's  never  been  born." 

"But  why,"  Ann  asked,  "are  you  so  sure  he 
would  be  a  boy?" 

"Lor'  bless  you,  deary,"  said  Sarah,  "I  never  think 
of  him  as  a  girl. 

"I  have  sole  charge  of  the  sweets,"  she  continued 
a  little  later.  "Wyborn  says  I  shall  ruin  him  be 
cause  I  will  give  the  children  overweight ;  but  I  tell 
him  that  the  way  he  pinches  the  tobacco  to  the  half- 
ounce  will  make  that  all  right.  Oh,  he's  clever ! 
And  work !  He  never  leaves  the  shop.  There  he 
sits  all  day  long,  smoking  his  pipe  and  talking  to 
customers  about  the  races,  and  the  Government, 
and  the  sufferingettes,  and  the  murders.  We  do 
well  out  of  murders.  By-elections  are  all  right,  but 


MR.  INGLESIDE  187 

they're  not  in  it  with  murders.  I  always  pray  that 
the  murderers  won't  be  caught  for  a  week  at  least, 
because  it  works  up  the  excitement  so.  By-elections 
of  course  are  all  over  in  one  edition,  like  the  Derby ; 
but  we're  very  glad  when  an  M.P.  dies,  all  the 


same." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

IN  WHICH  WE  FIND  A  MODERN  ULYSSES 
AND  A  MODERN  PENELOPE 

THE  following  Friday  evening  was  a  special  one, 
in  honour  of  Alison's  return  —  the  guests 
arriving  for  dinner  instead  of  after  it.  To  meet  the 
situation,  a  cook  had  been  engaged  to  assist  in  the 
kitchen  and  a  butler  ordered  from  the  Stores.  Mr. 
Ingleside  wanted  Timbs  to  serve  in  that  capacity ; 
but  his  daughters  were  against  it  for  the  reasons 
(i)  that  he  was  engaged  as  a  chauffeur  only ;  (2) 
that  he  was  an  engineer,  and  therefore  a  superior 
person ;  (3)  that  he  would  do  it  badly  ;  and  (4) ,  which 
alone  would  have  carried  the  day,  that  he  was  a  dar 
ling,  and  they  did  not  want  him  to :  it  would  hurt  his 
feelings.  (How  do  chauffeurs  acquire  this  trick  of 
suggesting  that  their  feelings  would  be  hurt  ?)  The 
butler  was  therefore  ordered. 
'  When  Mrs.  Boody  was  told  of  this  project  her  face 
clouded. 

"Oh,  Miss  Alison,"  she  said,  sinking  into  a  chair. 

"Mrs.  Boody,  whatever  is  the  matter?"  Alison 
asked. 

"Oh,  Miss  Alison,"  said  Mrs.  Boody,  "not  a  hired 
butler,  I  implore  you.  That's  what  Boody  was. 
Suppose  ...  oh,  it's  too  dreadful." 

"But,  Mrs.  Boody,"  said  Alison,  "the  world's  full 
188 


MR.   INGLESIDE  189 

of  hired  butlers.  Why  should  this  one  be  Mr. 
Boody?" 

"I  can't  say,  Miss/7  said  Mrs.  Boody,  "but  I've 
got  that  feeling.  One  of  them  presentiments.  Sup 
pose  it  should  be  right  ?  I  don't  often  have  them, 
but  they  always  come  true.  I  had  one  before  my 
sister's  youngest  died  of  the  bronchitis.  I  had 
another  before  the  young  King  and  Queen  of  Spain, 
bless  their  hearts,  were  married.  I  knew  there'd  be 
a  bomb  ;  and  there  was." 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  said  Alison,  "but  there  will  be 
so  many  people  here  you  couldn't  possibly  manage 
alone." 

"No,  I  know  that,"  said  Mrs.  Boody,  still  holding 
her  left  side,  "but  couldn't  you  get  one  of  those  nice 
young  women  who  go  out  waiting  ?  They're  just  as 
handy  as  a  man  and  far  more  reliable.  You  can't 
keep  the  men  from  the  decanters,  both  on  the  stairs 
and  in  the  pantry :  they're  so  accustomed  to  their 
little  nips.  The  young  women  are  always  steady." 

"I  think  we  shall  get  a  nice  man,"  said  Alison. 

"  They're  none  of  them  really  nice,"  said  Mrs. 
Boody.  "Not  hired  butlers.  Your  own  butler 
can  be  nice,  but  not  the  hired  ones.  I  know 
them." 

Mr.  Ingleside,  however,  refused  to  alter  his  plans, 
and  the  butler  was  not  countermanded.  He  was  to 
be  there  at  four  o'clock  to  begin  his  preparations ; 
and  at  that  hour  the  bell  rang,  followed  a  minute 
after  by  a  piercing  scream.  Alison  and  Ann  looked  at 
each  other  in  alarm.  "Mr.  Boody  !"  Ann  cried,  as 
they  both  ran  into  the  passage. 


i9o  MR.  INGLESIDE 

The  sight  that  met  their  eyes  was  alarming — Mrs. 
Boody  in  a  swoon  on  the  floor,  and  a  burly  man 
stealthily  retreating. 

"Stop  !"  Alison  cried ;  and  he  stepped  back  and 
closed  the  door.  At  the  same  time  Ann  ran  for 
some  water  and  Mrs.  Boody  opened  her  eyes.  She 
looked  all  around  in  a  dazed  way  and  then  fixed  her 
gaze  on  the  man. 

"Oh,  Horace!'7  she  said. 

"Well?  "said  the  man. 

"Oh,  Horace!  after  all  these  years.  I  wonder 
you  dare." 

"Well,"  said  the  man,  "if  I'd  have  known,  I 
shouldn't  have  dared." 

"Are  you  Mr.  Boody?"  Alison  asked  him. 

"That  was  my  name,"  said  the  man,  who  seemed 
to  have  a  faculty  of  swiftly  recognizing  the  inevitable 
and  meeting  it  philosophically. 

"How  could  you  be  so  cruel,"  Alison  continued, 
"as  to  leave  Mrs.  Boody?" 

"  WeU,  Miss,"  said  Mr.  Boody,  "it  was  better  than 
living  with  her  and  not  hitting  it  off." 

"It  was  your  duty  to  look  after  her,"  said  Alison. 
"She  might  have  starved." 

"She  hasn't,"  said  Mr.  Boody,  with  an  expressive 
glance  at  Mrs".  Boody's  comfortable  contours.  Mrs. 
Boody  by  this  time  was  on  her  feet.  "She  looks  to 
me,"  Mr.  Boody  went  on,  "as  if  she  had  found  a 
good  place  and  was  very  happy  in  it  —  a  great  deal 
happier  than  she  ever  would  have  been  with  me. 
She's  been  luckier  than  I  have,  anyway." 

"Oh,  Horace,"  said  Mrs.  Boody. 


MR.   INGLESIDE  191 

Alison  felt  the  presence  of  a  fallacy,  but  could  not 
phrase  it. 

Mr.  Boody  detected  her  difficulty,  and  hastened  to 
improve  his  position.  "  My  belief  has  always  been," 
he  said,  "that  people  who  don't  get  on  should 
separate." 

"Oh,  Horace,"  said  Mrs.  Boody  again,  adding, 
"How  often  have  you  separated?" 

This  was  a  home  thrust,  and  Mr.  Boody  could  not 
disguise  the  fact  that  he  felt  it. 

"But  it's  no  subject  of  talk  for  young  ladies  like 
them  to  listen  to,"  Mrs.  Boody  continued. 

"That  it  isn't,"  agreed  Mr.  Boody,  with  cheerful 
quickness.  "And  I'm  sure,  Miss,"  he  added  to 
Alison,  "that  you'd  like  me  to  go  back  as  soon  as 
possible  and  send  another  man?  Martha  and  I," 
he  said,  "would  be  bound  to  make  a  failure  of  your 
party.  Speaking  for  myself,"  he  said,  "I'm  sure  I 
couldn't  trust  myself  to  hand  anything.  My  nerve 
wouldn't  permit  of  it." 

"Your  nerve,"  retorted  Mrs.  Boody,  who  was  now 
quite  herself  again,  "would  permit  of  anything." 

"I  meant  my  nerves,"  said  Mr.  Boody  meekly. 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Ingleside  arrived.  "By 
God's  special  providence,  "as  Mrs.  Boody  afterwards 
used  always  to  say  in  telling  the  story.  She  looked 
upon  this  timeliness  as  a  reward  for  years  of  con 
scientious  chapel  attendance. 

Mr.  Boody,  who  had  been  on  the  point  of  escaping 
in  earnest,  stood  in  deferential  if  not  abject  silence 
while  Alison  explained  the  situation  to  her  father. 

"You  had  better  come  in  here,"  Mr.  Ingleside 


iQ2  MR.  INGLESIDE 

said  to  Mr.  Boody,  and  they  disappeared  in  his  study, 
where  they  remained  for  some  minutes.  Then  Mrs. 
Boody  was  sent  for,  and  then  Mr.  Boody  left  the 
house  ;  and  in  the  course  of  an  hour  another  butler 
who  was  nobody's  husband  arrived,  and  all  went 
well. 

Mrs.  Boody,  as  it  happened,  scored  all  round  ;  for 
her  chances  of  being  confronted  with  her  husband 
any  more  were  reduced  practically  to  nothing,  while 
Mr.  Ingleside  had  seen  to  it  that  Mr.  Boody  in  future 
was  to  pay  for  his  freedom  by  a  weekly  allowance  to 
his  lawful  wife,  or  accept  consequences  which  might 
be  very  serious  to  one  whose  love  of  liberty  was  so 
warm. 

Talking  of  the  interview  after  dinner  to  his  friends, 
Mr.  Ingleside  said  that  he  had  never  had  such 
difficulty  in  administering  reproof.  "What  are  you 
to  do  ?  Here  was  a  man  —  a  rover  by  disposition  — 
who  was  thoroughly  tired  of  his  wife  and  had  left 
her.  As  he  said  more  than  once:  'That's  better 
than  double  harness  wearing  both  of  us  out,  isn't 
it?' 

"What  could  I  say  but  yes  ? 

"Of  course,  the  stupid  thing  is  that  his  wife  hadn't 
starved.  But  she  hadn't.  Realising  that  she  had 
been  abandoned,  she  dropped  as  soon  as  possible, 
like  a  sensible  woman,  into  a  good  situation.  That 
was  Boody's  trump  card,  and  he  made  the  most 
of  it. 

"'But  you  promised  at  the  altar,'  I  said. 

"  '  Pardon  me/  he  interrupted,  'we  was  registered/ 

"Another  set-back  for  me. 


MR.   INGLESIDE  193 

"'Well/  I  said,  ' whether  you  were  registered  or 
not,  you  took  your  wife  for  better  or  for  worse,  and 
it  was  on  the  distinct  understanding  that  you  would 
stick  to  her  and  support  her.' 

"  *  True/  he  said.  '  But  I  was  very  young  then  :  I 
didn't  know  my  own  mind.  I  was  excited,  and  that's 
the  fact.  It's  a  kind  of  intoxication/  he  added, '  and 
then  you  get  sober,  and  you're  different/ 

"What  is  one  to  say  to  a  man  like  that ?  Every 
word  he  spoke  was  true. 

" '  Well/  I  said, '  it's  very  unfortunate.  In  the  eye 
of  the  law  she  is  your  wife,  and  you  must  contribute 
to  her/  and  I  drew  up  a  paper  for  him  to  sign. 

"While  I  was  writing  it,  I  remembered  that  he 
was  a  Don  Juan :  it  is  so  difficult  to  keep  all  these 
points  together  in  one's  mind. 

" '  And  what/ 1  asked,  'do  you  say  to  Mrs.  Boody's 
charge  that  you  went  off  with  another  woman  ? ' 

"'It's  quite  true/  he  said  :  'I  did.' 

"'After  your  first  experience  of  marriage ?' 

"'Bless  your  heart,  sir/  he  said,  'that  makes  no 
difference.  One  always  thinks  the  next  is  the  perfect 
one.' 

"True  again. 

"'But  don't  you  know  it's  wicked?'  I  said. 

'"Oh,  I've  no  doubt  of  that, '  he  replied,  'but  I'm 
so  lonely.' 

"And  so  ended  my  career  as  a  censor  of  im 
morality." 

Her  new  sense  of  immunity,  and  the  addition  of 
several  pounds  a  year  to  her  income,  were  as  nothing 
compared  with  Mrs.  Boody's  triumph  as  one  whose 


i94  MR.  INGLESIDE 

presentiments  come  true.  On  the  following  Sunday 
she  paid  a  round  of  visits  to  her  friends  to  tell  the 
wonderful  story.  A  husband  had  long  been  a  neg 
ligible  ingredient  of  life  ;  but  a  story  !  —  there  was 
more  comfort  in  a  good  story  every  day,  and  she 
now  had  one  worth  telling.  Whatever  scandal  may 
have  been  talked  in  the  dining-rooms,  drawing-rooms, 
and  boudoirs  of  the  houses  where  her  friends  were 
in  service  —  whatever  narrations  of  unhappiness 
and  discord  and  infidelity  (and  what  else  is  there  to 
talk  about  ?)  —  they  were  empty  compared  with  the 
great  Boody  presentiment,  as  detailed  in  the  kitchen 
or  the  servants'  hall. 

"You  remember,"  Mrs.  Boody  would  begin,  "you 
remember  that  presentiment  I  had  about  poor 
Annie's  child  before  it  died  of  the  bronchitis  ?  You 
remember  how  I  said  it  couldn't  live,  poor  mite  ? 
And  you  remember  that  other  presentiment  —  I 
must  have  told  you  often  —  that  other  presentiment 
I  had  about  the  young  King  and  Queen  of  Spain, 
Princess  Ena  that  was,  bless  their  hearts  ?  On  their 
wedding  day  ?  How  I  knew  there'd  be  a  bomb,  and 
there  was  !  You  remember  that,  don't  you  ?  Well, 
that's  nothing  to  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you 
now.  .  .  ." 

So  Mrs.  Boody  would  begin.  Don't  you  envy 
her  ?  I  think  she  was  at  those  moments  the  happiest 
woman  on  earth. 

It  was  not  a  story  that  lost  either  in  the  telling 
or  the  retelling.  "And  at  that  moment,"  she  would 
say,  while  the  audience  drew  closer  still  —  "and  at 
that  moment,  while  Boody's  hand  was  absolutely 


MR.  INGLESIDE  195 

turning  the  door  handle  to  run  —  and  you  know  I 
should  never  have  had  any  hold  on  him  if  he  had 
got  away  then  —  at  that  moment,  by  God's  special 
providence,  who  should  walk  in  but  the  master.  .  .  ." 
If  all  deserted  wives  were  so  happy  ! 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IN  WHICH  AN  EVENING  IS  SPENT  AMONG 
CURIOSITIES,  AUTOGRAPHS,  AND  OYSTERS 

DR.  STAMINER  entertained  the  whole  party  a 
little  later.  Mr.  Ingleside  protested  at  first, 
for  he  said  it  might  be  thought  by  each  of  his  friends 
that  some  such  feast  was  a  kind  of  obligation ;  but 
he  soon  gave  way  on  being  assured  that  they  were 
not  so  foolish.  " Besides,"  said  the  doctor,  "you 
are  coming  to  dine  with  me  for  my  own  ends,  and 
not  for  your  pleasure.  I  want  to  see  what  my  staff 
is  capable  of.  For  no  outside  help  will  be  added. 
No  butlers  !  Nothing  but  women  folk  here,"  he  said. 
"I  couldn't  afford  to  run  the  risk  of  exposing  the 
secret  skeleton  in  my  housekeeper's  cupboard.  The 
return  of  Boody  has  made  me  a  more  serious  man. 
One  never  knows  what  may  happen." 

There  is  a  story  of  a  Gower  Street  antiquary  who 
preceded  our  doctor  by  nearly  a  century — Mr.  Douce, 
I  think  it  was  —  who,  when  he  too  was  giving  a 
dinner  party  and  his  housekeeper  informed  him 
that  his  usual  dish,  a  leg  of  mutton,  would  be  in 
sufficient  for  so  many,  replied  with  admirable  logic, 
"Then  get  two  legs."  Dr.  Staminer,  all  unconscious 
of  this  circumstance,  did  precisely  the  same. 

After  dinner,  the  company  turned  to  the  examina 
tion  of  the  collection.  The  doctor  had  something 

196 


MR.   INGLESIDE  197 

for  everybody.  He  had  early  printed  books  and 
historical  broadsides,  autographs,  and  pewter,  old 
silver  and  vessels  of  horn,  snuff-boxes  and  lusus 
naturce,  South  Sea  carvings  and  straw  boxes,  pipes 
and  tinder  boxes,  shells  and  watches,  ivories  and 
porcelain.  As  I  have  said,  he  preferred  the  odd  to 
the  beautiful ;  but  he  had  a  few  beautiful  things  too, 
such  as  blocks  of  matrix  opal,  burning  blue  and  green 
and  crimson  through  milky  clouds,  strange  shapes 
carved  in  cool  jade  from  the  beds  of  Chinese  rivers, 
and  a  little  old  Flemish  woodwork. 

In  art  Dr.  Staminer  belonged  to  what  one  might 
call  the  Hogarth  school  of  collector.  Whatever  else 
he  might  have  in  the  way  of  prints,  he  had  at  any 
rate  all  Hogarth.  The  moderns  had  for  him  worked 
in  vain  ;  in  vain  had  Whistler  and  Muirhead  Bone 
taken  the  burin  in  hand.  But  he  liked  Constable  in 
David  Lucas's  mezzotints ;  and  his  stairs  were 
dignified  by  Piranesi. 

Ann  and  Alison  were  perhaps  most  interested  by 
the  lusus  natures,  always  so  fascinating  to  the  young, 
and  not  a  little  bewildering  to  the  old  —  those  won 
derful  pieces  of  agate  and  jasper,  chalcedony  and 
other  stone,  in  the  very  hidden  heart  of  which  Nature, 
possibly  aeons  before  the  creation  of  the  protoplasm 
from  which  animals  and  men  were  after  aeons  more 
to  emerge,  had  devised  the  simulacra  of  these  crea 
tures  —  heads  so  like  those  of  people  we  know  as  to 
make  us  start,  recognizable  birds,  horses,  and  dogs. 

Mr.  Ingleside  could  not  be  diverted  from  the 
drawers  containing  the  autographs.  Suddenly  he 
exclaimed,  "  Why,  you  old  fox,  if  you  haven't  some 


i98  MR.  INGLESIDE 

letters  from  Lamb  to  Martin  Burney !  I  thought 
they  had  all  disappeared." 

"So  they  had,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling  the  mas 
terful  smile  of  the  successful  collector :  "into  that 
cabinet !  But  I  have  only  a  few.  Where  the  others 
are  is  truly  a  mystery.  In  America  very  likely. 
Read  them,  Ingleside.  They  will  probably  be  as 
fresh  to  me  as  to  any  of  you,  for  it's  years  since  I 
bought  them.  I  remember  annotating  them  at  the 
time." 

Mr.  Ingleside  arranged  them  in  chronological 
order.  "This,"  he  said,  "according  to  your  note, 
Staminer,  is  the  earliest.  It  is  undated,  and  con 
jee  turally  is  somewhere  about  1808.  Martin 
Burney,  I  should  first  say,  was  the  son  of  Admiral 
Burney,  who  sailed  with  Cook,  and  the  nephew  of 
Madame  D'Arblay.  He  was  about  Lamb's  age, 
but  Lamb  was  much  older  in  every  way,  and  in 
fact  a  deal  of  Martin  had  probably  never  grown  up. 
He  was  a  gentle  creature  with  a  kind  of  doglike 
affection  for  his  friends,  no  sense  of  practical  life 
whatever,  and  liable  to  very  foolish  impulses.  The 
Lambs  were  very  fond  of  him.  He  outlived  both, 
and  wept  at  Mary  Lamb's  funeral  with  a  lack  of 
restraint  which  disgusted  Crabb  Robinson. 

"Here  is  the  first  letter  :  — 

'Mv  DEAR  MARTIN, — I  send  this  by  our  good  friend 
Ayrton  to  tell  you  that  the  time  for  self-reproach  and  hiding 
has  past.  As  to  what  you  have  done,  I  have  only  an  impaired 
inkling  ;  but  I  know  your  nature  and  what  it  would  never  do, 
and  I  say  in  all  gravity  and  love,  absent  thee  from  felicity 
no  more.  You  have  had  your  share ;  it  is  not  well  to  indulge 


MR.  INGLESIDE  199 

yourself  too  far  in  abnegation.  Remember  moreover  that 
you  are  not  alone  :  you  are  part  of  a  family.  The  right  to 
chastise  ourselves  is  no  doubt  one  that  human  beings  will 
cherish  as  long  as  most ;  but  a  time  comes  when  the  question 
must  be  put,  Are  we  not  chastening  the  innocent  too  ?  You 
must  search  your  heart  with  that  inquiry  at  once,  Martin, 
and  when  you  have  supplied  the  only  answer,  you  must 
hasten  back  to  Little  James  Street  to  comfort  your  poor 
mother  and  restore  in  the  Admiral  —  who,  I  am  in  a  position 
to  inform  you,  is  not  so  angry  as  he  pretends,  having  him 
self  once  been  young  —  a  desire  for  a  rubber.  All  is  not 
lost  because  one  has  been  foolish.  —  Yours  most  truly, 

1 C.  LAMB/ 

"In  1818,  Lamb,  thinking  his  literary  career  over 
(before  it  had  really  begun),  collected  his '  Works '  in 
two  volumes,  and  they  were  dedicated  to  Martin 
Burney  in  a  sonnet,  ending  with  the  beautiful  lines  — 

'In  all  thy  threading  of  this  worldly  maze 
(And  I  have  watched  thee  almost  from  a  child), 
Free  from  self-seeking,  envy,  low  design, 
I  have  not  found  a  whiter  soul  than  thine/ 

"Here  is  the  very  letter  that  accompanied  the 
dedicatory  sonnet :  — 

*  20,  GREAT  RUSSELL  STREET 
'  April  Sth,  1818 

'DEAR  LAD,  as  I  shall  always  call  you  no  matter  how 
grey  you  become  or  how  senile  you  talk,  this  is  the  sonnet 
which  I  wish  to  inscribe  on  a  fly  leaf  of  my  WORKS  — 
WORKS  !  do  you  hear  ?  —  so  that  they  may  have  at  any 
rate  one  page  of  which  I  shall  never  feel  ashamed.  For  the 
rest,  I  alternate  between  misgiving  and  a  feeling  that  a  few 
things  may  be  neatly  said,  but  whether  I  would  like  to 
burn  them  or  write  them  all  over  again  I  am  undecided. 
Am  I  clear  ? 


200  MR.   INGLESIDE 

( My  WORKS  —  henceforward  your  works  by  virtue 
of  this  fourteener  —  are  going  to  be  in  two  plump  little 
volumes.  Have  you  ever  had  twins  before  ?  I  am  an  old 
hand  at  it,  for  the  Poetry  for  Children  and  the  Tales  from 
Shakespeare  were  gemini  too.  —  Thine,  C.  L.' 

"In  1821  the  Admiral  published  his  Essay  on  the 
Game  of  Whist,  and  Lamb  wrote  to  congratulate  him 
on  it.  There  is  no  date  :  - 

'  MY  DEAR  ADMIRAL,  —  I  have  now  perused  your 
treatise  with  pleasure  and  edification.  Since  you  would 
not  give  me  one,  and  since  I  buy  no  new  books,  I  have  had  to 
borrow  Martin's  copy,  and  I  adjure  you  when  next  you  see 
him  to  tell  him  from  me  that  he  must  extract  another  from 
the,  paternal  store,  for  never  will  I  part  with  mine,  as  I  now 
call  it. 

'That  is  the  only  true  subject  for  the  Essayist's  pen  — 
Whist,  the  only  game  in  which  intellect  and  recreation  equally 
participate.  You  make  me  ashamed  of  the  frivolous  way 
ward  saunterings  of  my  London  pen,  concerned  as  it  is  with 
such  trifles  as  the  South  Sea  House,  New  Year's  Eve,  Christ's 
Hospital  and  so  forth.  Looking  back  upon  my  recent  be 
wildering  activities  —  to  think  of  any  sane  man  recommencing 
author  at  my  age,  after  the  publication  of  his  Works  too  !  — 
I  charge  myself  with  writing  real  sense  only  in  that  paper 
wherein  Sarah  Battle  unbosoms  on  the  Great  Topic,  your 
Topic  and  —  henceforward — mine.  Yours  till  the  last 
Trump,  and,  as  a  Christian,  I  trust  after,  C.  L.' 

"And  here,"  Mr.  Ingleside  added,  "is  a  note,  in 
the  doctor's  hand,  to  the  effect  that  Lamb  kept  his 
word  about  not  returning  Martin's  copy,  for  it  was 
sold  after  his  death  with  other  volumes  from  his 
library. 

"The  next  letter  is  dated  18  November,  1821,  the 
day  after  the  Admiral's  death  :  — 


MR.   INGLESIDE  201 

'  MY  DEAR  MARTIN,  —  The  sad  news  was  brought  by 
Ayrton.  We  had  heard  there  was  no  hope  ;  but  the  shock 
of  the  death  of  an  old  friend  cannot  to  any  appreciable  ex 
tent  be  softened  by  fore-knowledge.  He  was  and  he  is  not : 
that  is  the  immitigable  fact.  A  time  has  come  when  it 
seems  that  none  of  my  friends  are  safe ;  and  you  would  be 
wise  to  avoid  me.  Don't  be  seen  with  me.  Run  when  I 
appear.  There's  Jem  White  gone  ;  and  then,  only  a  month 
ago,  my  brother ;  and  now  your  father.  We  shall  soon  be 
alone,  Martin.  Give  your  mother  our  love.  I  say  our  but 
I  have  not  told  Mary  yet.  Her  recovery  is  so  recent  I 
hesitate  to  do  so ;  and  this  will  explain  my  absence  from 
the  funeral.  As  to  that  other  matter,  I  am  doing  what  I 
can  and  shall  see  J.  R.  shortly. 

'May  God  bless  us  aU.  C.  L.' 

"The  phrase  'that  other  matter/"  Mr.  Ingleside 
added,  "is  said  in  the  pencil  note  to  refer  to  some 
difficulty  that  Martin  Burney  had  been  having  with 
his  employer,  John  Rickman,  Clerk  Assistant  at  the 
Table  of  the  House  of  Commons,  and  Lamb's  friend. 

"The  two  next  are  more  frivolous  :  — 

'DEAR  MARTIN'  —  (the  date  is  7  November,  1823,  Cole- 
brooke  Cottage,  Islington)  — '  Dear  Martin,  —  We  count 
on  you  for  Sunday.  Leg  of  lamb  at  three  precisely.  If  you 
fail  us  you  will  miss  the  sight  of  the  season  —  G.  D.'s  diluvian 
shoes,  still  drying  in  the  garden  from  his  immersion.  He 
forbade  us  to  set  them  near  the  fire,  as  heat  cracketh  them  — 
as  though  aught  could  crack  further  such  cracks  as  Time  has 
been  making  these  twenty  years.  But  come  and  see  them. 
You  cannot  miss  them  :  they  hang  on  the  line.  —  Thine, 

'C.  L.' 

"  G.  D.  is  of  course  George  Dyer,  who,  being 
nearly  blind,  had  walked  into  the  New  River  in 
front  of  Lamb's  house  a  few  days  before.  The 
next  is  a  year  later  :  — 


202  MR.  INGLESIDE 

'DEAR  MARTIN,  — You  offered  once  to  let  us  use  your 
subscription  at  Cawthorn's  Library  when  you  were  circuiting 
up  and  down  in  the  land  seeking  whom  you  might  defend. 
Mary  is  sadly  hipped  at  this  moment  and  was  never  so  desti 
tute  of  such  light  fictions  as  C.  disburses.  Will  you  au 
thorize  him  to  send  her  a  bundle  no  matter  how  foolish? 
Hazlitt ' 

"The  rest  is  torn  away,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 
"  What  a  loss! 

"We  come  now  to  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Burney,  referring 
to  the  essay '  The  Wedding '  to  be  found  in  the  second 
volume  of  Elia:  — 

'COLEBROOKE    COTTAGE 

'May  24th,  1825. 

'My  DEAR  MRS.  BURNEY,  —  In  the  forthcoming  London 
look  out  for  some  recollections  of  happier  days  for  all  of  us 
—  although  I  must  not  talk  like  that  lest  the  Powers  hear 
me  and  punish  me  for  ingratitude,  since  I  am  now  free  and 
well.  Mary  has  not  been  ill  for  so  long  that  I  tremble  when 
I  count  the  months.  Recollection  then  of  happier  days, 
let  me  say,  for  you,  for  I  have  been  sending  my  memory  back 
to  Sarah's  wedding  and  my  foolishness  with  the  Admiral 
afterwards.  You  will  not  be  offended,  I  know.  I  am  a 
sad  autobiographer  and  none  of  my  friends  are  safe  when  the 
London  clamours,  and  when  having  nothing  but  time,  as 
now,  I  have  none.  I  must  try  to  get  to  Little  James  Street 
soon  and  once  more  shake  you  by  the  hand.  —  Your  sincere 
friend,  CHARLES  LAMB.* 

'Mary  sends  her  love  and  wishes  that  the  rubbers  were 
not  all  over.  So  do  I.  But  then  I  wish  so  many  things.' 

"The  next  letter  was  written  only  a  day  after. 
To  Martin.  It  explains  itself  :  — 


MR.  INGLESIDE  203 

'COLEBROOKE    COTTAGE 

1  May  25th,  1825 

'DEAR  MARTIN,  —  News  has  just  come  that  my  brother 
John's  widow  has  joined  him  in  that  place  where  there  is 
neither  marriage  nor  giving  in  marriage  but  where  I  presume 
husbands  and  wives  do  not  have  to  be  reintroduced  when  they 
meet.  I  must  attend  the  funeral  since  I  am  not  only  her 
brother-in-law  but  executor.  Will  you  come  to  Colebrooke 
on  Sunday  and  explicate  the  last  will  and  testament  to  my 
jaded  apprehensions?  I  saw  it  once  and  I  recollect  with 
alarm  how  it  bristled  with  the  terms  of  your  Mystery.  There 
is  so  little  money  for  the  relict's  daughter  that  I  wish  to 
get  my  legal  advice  free  as  the  air  we  breathe,  which  so  far 
as  I  have  been  able  to  observe  during  a  pilgrimage  of  al 
most  exactly  fifty  years  is  the  only  gratuitous  commodity 
that  exists.  —  Thine,  C.  L.' 

"A  note,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,"  remarks  that  Lamb 
was  taken  ill  almost  directly  after  this  letter  and 
remained  ill  for  some  time,  while  his  sister  failed 
again  too.  The  last  is  not  dated  at  all :  — 

'DEAR  MARTIN,  —  A  barrel  of  oysters  has  fallen  upon  us 
from  the  blue  ;  we  know  not  at  whose  bidding,  but  each  has 
a  guess.  I  like  to  stand  aside  and  watch  my  friends  engage 
in  combats  of  generosity,  and  I  care  not  who  is  the  winner 
so  they  fight  gamely  and  exchange  shrewd  blows.  Oysters 
will  be  on  the  table  at  nine  to-morrow  with  concomitant 
porter.  We  shall  be  disappointed  if  you  eat  none  of  them.' " 

"  A  phrase  or  two  of  that  letter,  or  something  very 
like  it,  is  repeated  in  Lamb's  'Thoughts  on  Presents 
of  Game,'  "  said  Dr.  Staminer.  "Perhaps  we  may 
date  it  somewhere  at  the  same  time  —  in  1830. 
But  it  doesn't  matter." 

"Ah  me  !"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.     "There's  a  good 


204  MR.  INGLESIDE 

sound  about  that !  The  brave  days  !  The  brave 
nights  !  Oysters  !  Who  eats  oysters  for  supper  in 
his  own  house  any  longer,  with  or  without  con 
comitant  porter  ?  Once  I  could  make  three  dozen 
look  very  foolish." 

Henry  Thrace,  who  had  been  deep  in  a  portfolio  of 
Georgian  caricatures,  sprang  up  excitedly.  "Look 
here,"  he  said,  "that  gives  me  an  idea.  If  I  take  a 
cab  and  go  down  to  Wilton's  and  bring  back  some 
oysters,  will  you  eat  them?  You  don't  mind, 
doctor?" 

"Mind,"  said  the  doctor,  "how  could  I?" 

"I  should  love  to  do  it,"  said  Henry  Thrace,  and 
he  was  gone,  followed  by  Ramer,  who  claimed  the 
right  to  provide  the  stout. 

"Those  are  men,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "  But  your 
servants  will  probably  give  notice  en  bloc." 

"They  shan't  do  that,"  said  Alison,  "because  Ann 
and  I  will  get  the  things  ready  for  them  ;"  and  they 
went  downstairs  with  the  doctor  and  laid  the  table 
afresh. 

A  stationary  whirring  in  the  street  told  that  a 
taxicab  was  at  the  door,  and  the  doctor  and  Christie 
hurried  down  to  help.  They  found  Henry  Thrace 
and  Ramer  accompanied  by  an  oyster-opening  con 
federate  and  a  hamper  containing  twelve  dozen. 

"If  this  isn't  enough,"  said  Henry,  "the  man  will 
go  back  for  more." 

The  cab  also  contained  a  gallon  jar  of  stout  —  for 
Ramer  had  refused  the  bottled  variety.  In  case  the 
house  had  none,  he  had  also  brought  two  loaves  of 
brown  bread. 


MR.   INGLESIDE  205 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  as  once  more  they 
assembled  at  the  table,  "we  re-create  the  sacred 
past !  This  shell  I  shall  keep  as  a  souvenir  of  a 
gallant  effort.  I  shall  have  the  date  engraved  upon 
it  to-morrow." 

"I  am  glad  you  did  not  ask  us  to  open  them," 
said  Dr.  Staminer,  "for  two  reasons.  One  is  that 
we  should  all  be  eating  bits  of  shell,  and  the  other 
that  I  now  know  what  I  have  long  wanted  to 
discover :  what  it  is  that  oyster-openers  do  for  a 
living  when  the  month  has  no  R  in  it.  This  one 
tells  me  that  he  is  employed  in  Hyde  Park  to  collect 
pennies  for  the  chairs.  It  is  most  happy.  Chairs, 
it  seems,  come  in  just  as  oysters  go  out,  and  go  out 
just  as  oysters  come  in.  Voltaire  himself  could  not 
have  hit  upon  a  finer  example  of  the  wisdom  of 
Providence." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

IN    WHICH    A    MIGHTY    SOCIAL    ENGINE 
LAYS  BARE  SOME  SECRETS 

f^HRISTIE  having  been  taken  down  the  river  in 
\^s  the  Caprice,  and  having  written  a  very  suc 
cessful  article  on  his  voyage,  insisted  upon  entertain 
ing  Alison  and  Ann  at  his  office. 

"The  rush,"  he  said,  "is  over  by  twelve.  Come 
here  at  a  quarter  past,  and  after  I've  shown  you 
the  place  we'll  go  to  Soho  for  lunch.  I've  just 
discovered  a  new  restaurant.  Dejeuner,  five  courses, 
one  and  three." 

"My  dear  Christie,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "I  can't 
have  my  girls  poisoned.  It  must  be  horse  and  dog 
at  that  price." 

"I  don't  care  if  it  is,"  said  Christie,  "it's  jolly 
good." 

The  girls  were  led  through  a  throbbing  building  of 
passages  and  doors  to  Christie's  room,  which  had 
"Assistant  Editor"  painted  on  it.  As  they  entered 
he  rose  wearily  and  importantly  from  a  desk  covered 
with  papers  ;  other  papers  littered  the  floor. 

"I'm  just  through,"  Christie  said.  "Look  round 
the  room,  won't  you,  while  you  are  waiting,  or 
read  the  papers." 

They  did  so,  and  paved  the  way  for  a  number  of 
questions  when  the  time  was  ripe. 

206 


MR.   INGLESIDE  207 

"How  is  it,"  Alison  asked,  "that  in  order  to  edit 
one  paper  you  have  to  be  surrounded  by  all  the 
others?" 

"That's  because  ours  is  an  evening  paper,"  said 
Christie,  "and  evening  papers  are  so  poor  that  they 
have  to  live  on  their  rich  morning  brethren.  A 
morning  paper,"  he  added,  "can  afford  special  corre 
spondents  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  These"  -  and  he 
held  up  a  huge  pair  of  scissors  —  "are  our  special 
correspondents." 

"And  what  is  this  curious  chart?"  Alison  asked, 
pointing  to  a  kind  of  map  divided  into  columns  with 
little  mysterious  marks  in  each. 

"Ah,"  said  Christie,  "that  is  a  great  dodge. 
That  shows  me  at  a  glance  the  amount  of  advertising 
a  publisher  does  and  the  number  of  reviews  he  gets. 
Then  we  can  be  fair  all  round." 

Every  now  and  then  a  man  would  burst  in  and, 
seeing  the  two  girls,  apologize  and  withdraw  in 
confusion. 

"Who  was  that?"  Ann  asked,  as  one  of  them,  a 
sad,  grey  ascetic,  entered,  halted  abashed,  and  dis 
appeared. 

"That's  our  principal  humorist,"  said  Christie. 
"He  edits  the  funny  column." 

"He  doesn't  look  like  it,"  said  Ann. 

"No,"  said  Christie,  "none  of  them  do  nowa 
days.  It's  a  point  of  honour  with  the  new  humor 
ists  to  appear  miserable.  Come  and  see  my  chief," 
he  added,  and  led  the  way  to  the  adjoining  room, 
where  they  found  a  genial  man  smoking  a  large 
cigar  and  reading  MSS. 


208  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"I'm  so  glad  you  came  in,"  he  said.  "I've 
reached  a  point  where  I  don't  know  whether  an 
article  is  too  good  or  too  bad  to  be  printed." 

"It  must  be  very  difficult  to  tell,  when  it  is  written 
by  hand,"  said  Alison. 

"Yes ;  but  one  goes  a  good  deal  by  the  hand 
writing,"  said  the  editor. 

"But  supposing  some  one  got  the  boot-boy  to  copy 
out  one  of  Stevenson's  essays,"  Alison  said. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  cried  the  editor,  "what  a 
perfectly  horrible  idea  !  You  have  done  for  my 
peace  of  mind  for  ever.  I  shall  never  dare  to  glance 
casually  at  a  manuscript  again." 

"Typing  is  best,  of  course,"  Ann  said. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  editor  ;  "but,  in  spite  of  your 
sister's  bomb-shell,  I  should  prefer  the  first  para 
graph  by  hand  and  the  rest  typed.  That  is  the 
ideal  condition  for  the  selector." 

"What  is  done  in  this  room  ?"  Alison  asked. 

"Everything,"  said  the  editor.  "If  Christie  has 
been  pretending  that  any  share  of  the  labour  of 
bringing  out  this  paper  falls  on  him,  he  has  de 
ceived  you.  He  ought  to  do  things,  but  he  doesn't. 
No  doubt,"  he  continued,  "you  saw  in  his  room  a 
certain  amount  of  picturesque  muddle,  a  large 
paste-pot,  and  a  pair  of  scissors  like  those  in 
Struwwelpeter?  Yes?  I  thought  so.  Don't  be 
under  any  mistake.  That  is  merely  local  colour. 
The  work,  as  I  said,  is  done  here. 

"To  give  you  an  example  of  what  I  have  to  do," 
the  editor  continued,  in  his  pleasant  tone  of  raillery, 
"look  at  that  basket." 


MR.  INGLESIDE  209 

He  held  up  the  waste-paper  basket  and  showed  it 
full  of  envelopes  and  torn  paper.  "This  morning's 
post,"  he  said.  "And  who  opened  it?  I.  Who 
read  it?  I.  Who  tore  it  up?  I.  And  who 
will  have  to  answer  the  balance  ?  I. 

"Now,"  he  went  on,  "have  you  any  notion  what 
the  letters  contain  that  people  write  to  editors? 
I  don't  mean  the  letters  we  print,  but  the  letters 
we  don't  print?  Here's  one,  from  a  reader  who 
says  he  has  taken  in  our  paper  for  twenty- two  years, 
but  if  we  ever  have  another  paragraph  like  the  one 
on  Tuesday  last,  in  which  there  was  a  flippant  al 
lusion  to  Noah's  Ark,  he  must  cease  to  be  a  sub 
scriber. 

"Here's  another,  from  a  theatrical  manager  com 
plaining  that  we  went  out  of  our  way  yesterday  to 
mention  a  rival  by  way  of  a  comparison  when, 
considering  what  he,  the  writer,  pays  us  a  year  for 
advertisements,  we  ought  to  have  used  one  of  his 
own  productions  for  our  purpose.  If  it  ever  hap 
pens  again,  he  will  withdraw  his  advertisement." 

"Does  the  advertisement  matter?"  Alison  asked. 

The  editor  gasped.  "My  dear  Miss  Innocence," 
he  said,  "the  advertisements  are  our  life  blood. 
As  a  matter  of  bed-rock  fact,  every  paper  is 
edited  by  the  advertisement  manager.  Never 
believe  anyone  who  tells  you  that  this  is  not  the 
case.  We  others  sit  here,  in  a  kind  of  royal  state, 
and  return  manuscripts  and  accept  invitations  to 
banquets  and  receptions,  and  draw  —  in  some  cases, 
not  mine  —  fairly  tidy  salaries  ;  but  we  are  ciphers. 
It  is  the  advertisement  manager  who  is  really 


210  MR.   INGLESIDE 

running  the  show,  dictating  the  policy,  modifying 
the  opinions.  I  could  tell  you  —  but  I  won't. 
The  topic  is  too  painful. 

"Every  editor's  heart  is  seared  from  this  cause. 
We  go  about  and  look  important  and  inscrutable ; 
but  all  the  time  we  know  the  bitter  truth  :  we  cannot 
deceive  ourselves. 

"Christie,  of  course,"  he  added,  "is  doubly 
cursed  with  secret  shame,  for  not  only  is  he  by  way 
of  being  an  editor  and  suffering  therefore  these 
ordinary  pangs,  but  he  is  a  Radical  and  Socialist 
too,  and  every  morning  has  to  write,  or  approve, 
opinions  diametrically  opposed  to  his  own." 

Christie  groaned. 

"This  drawer,"  the  editor  continued,  "is  labelled, 
you  will  observe,  'Museum.'  That's  where  our 
real  curiosities  are  kept :  the  letters  which  it  would 
be  too  cruel  to  print  but  which  are  too  precious  to 
lose.  Here  is  one  from  quite  a  well-known  author 
whose  books  you  very  likely  delight  in,  asking  for  a 
special  review  of  his  book  because  he  recently  had 
the  honour  of  being  included  in  a  royal  shooting 
party. 

"Authors  are  almost  the  worst.  Their  passion 
for  notice  is  a  kind  of  disease.  There  is  one  novelist 
who  has  written  so  much  and  variously  that  no 
public  event  can  occur  to  which  some  kind  of  allu 
sion  cannot  be  found  in  his  works.  He  writes  to  us 
continually  drawing  attention  to  these  remarkable 
instances  of  foresight,  and  even  frames  the  para 
graphs  himself.  Here  is  one  beginning, '  Yet  another 
coincidence  from  the  voluminous  pen  of  Mr. .' 


MR.   INGLESIDE  211 

Here  is  another  :  'Mr.  -  — ,  long  known  as  a  spe 
cialist  in  intelligent  anticipation,  has  done  it  again. 
.  .  .'  I  assure  you  there  are  public  men  who  do 
things  to  advertise  themselves  that  pill-makers 
would  stick  at. 

"Here's  another  from  a  gentleman  complaining 
of  an  affront.  He  begins  with  a  sentence  which 
ought  to  be  printed  on  public  men's  note-paper, 
they  use  it  so  often  :  '  My  attention  has  been  drawn 
to.'  It  is  a  remarkable  thing  that  no  one  who  is 
affronted  by  a  paper  ever  by  any  chance  discovers 
the  article  for  himself :  his  attention  has  to  be 
drawn  to  it." 

"Don't  they  ever  fail  to  see  it?"    Alison  asked. 

"Never,"  said  the  editor. 

"Then  we  have  a  whole  bundle  of  applications 
from  photographers  to  deceased  authors  whom  we 
have  quoted,  addressed  care  of  this  paper,  asking 
them  to  make  appointments  for  sittings,  for  in 
clusion  in  the  Eminent  Notabilities  Series,  and  so 
forth.  Here's  one  addressed  to  Walter  Savage 
Landor.  Here's  one  for  William  Hazlitt.  Here's 
one  for  Wordsworth." 

"Not  really?"   said  Ann. 

"Absolutely,"  said  the  editor.  "You  have  no 
idea  how  ignorant  people  can  be." 

"And  letters  threatening  libel  actions!"  said 
Christie. 

"Oh  yes.  They  arrive  daily,"  said  the  editor. 
"Such  is  the  state  of  the  English  law  in  this  matter, 
and  such  the  expense  and  harassment  of  defending 
oneself,  that  the  threatening  of  libel  proceedings  has 


212  MR.   INGLESIDE 

become  a  recognized  industry.  Otherwise  penniless 
men  have  been  known  to  live  comfortably  on  the 
slips  of  the  pen  of  careless  journalists  whose  pro 
prietors  prefer  to  pay  a  little  solatium  rather  than  be 
subjected  to  the  terrific  costs  of  the  Law  Courts." 

"Yes,"  said  Christie,  "it  was  for  their  protection 
that  the  blessed  word  '  alleged '  was  invented  — 
demand  always  in  time  leading  to  supply  —  and 
some  reporters  are  so  careful  that  one  is  credited 
with  the  phrase,  'Alleged  eclipse  of  the  moon  at 
Southampton,'  and  another,  'Alleged  prize  distri 
bution  at  Acton."3 

"Those  grey  hairs  you  see  on  poor  Christie's 
temples,"  said  the  editor,  "are  entirely  due  to  panics 
over  paragraphs  that  have  gone  to  press,  and  can 
not  be  recalled,  and  may  have  libels  in  them." 

"What  exactly  is  libel?"  Alison  asked. 

"Ah!  "said  Christie.     ^ 

"Libel,"  said  the  editor,  "is  that  form  of  truth 
out  of  which  a  man  may  make  money  by  swearing 
it  to  be  a  lie." 

"Then  it's  not  much  fun  being  an  editor,"  Alison 
remarked. 

"Very  little,"  said  the  editor.  "And  there's  not 
much  profit  in  it  either.  The  work  is  hard ;  the 
hours  are  preposterous,  turning  —  on  a  morning 
paper,  I  mean  —  night  into  day  and  day  into  night ; 
the  responsibilities  are  heavy  ;  the  reward  is  trump 
ery.  One  has  all  the  kicks  and  very  few  of  the 
ha'pence.  And  you  may  add  to  this  the  continual 
question  whether  the  game  is  intellectually,  to  say 
nothing  of  spiritually,  worth  the  candle  —  whether  it 


MR.   INGLESIDE  213 

is  all  quite  good  enough.  For  an  editor,  after  all,  no 
matter  how  good  he  is  —  whether  he  is  Delane  him 
self  —  must  be,  by  the  nature  of  his  task,  a  good 
deal  of  a  busybody.  He  must  be  more  interested 
in  other  people's  affairs  than  a  gentleman  quite 
wants  to  be.  He  must  often  —  unless  his  paper  is  a 
very  different  one  from  any  that  I  have  ever  known 
—  have  to  lend  himself  to  opinions  which  he  does 
not  quite  believe ;  while  the  opportunity  given 
him  of  unceasingly  criticizing  the  party  he  does  not 
belong  to  is  very  bad  for  the  character,  inducing 
arrogance  and  superiority  and  gradually  wearing 
down  the  sense  of  justice.  But  when  it  comes  to 
choosing  a  line  of  country  instead,  I  must  confess  to 
being  stumped.  Therefore  one  goes  on.  And  of 
course  it's  frightfully  interesting  too,  being  behind 
the  scenes.  And  yet  ...  I  know  a  little  cottage 
near  a  pine  wood.  .  .  .  Ah,  well." 

Christie  afterwards  took  them  to  the  sub-editor's 
rooms,  where  the  ruins  of  countless  other  papers 
lay  all  over  the  floor  and  the  place  bristled  with 
more  scissors ;  to  the  composing  room,  where 
terribly  human  linotypes  stretched  out  their  long 
hands  even  more  likely  to  do  mischief  than  the  idle 
ones  of  boys  and  girls  that  Satan  so  loves ;  to  the 
casting  rooms,  where  the  lead  plates  were  prepared 
by  hot  and  oily  men  in  their  shirt-sleeves ;  to  the 
printing  room,  where  the  engines  were  all  at  work, 
rolling  off  the  first  edition  (which  is  called  the  fourth)  ; 
and  then  he  took  them  to  a  window  looking  down 
upon  a  side  street  filled  with  horses  and  carts, 
motor  tricycles,  and  a  rabble  of  rough,  round-shoul- 


2i4  MR.   INGLESIDE 

dered  youths  with  bicycles,  all  waiting  to  carry 
the  papers  over  London  :  "even  to  Mrs.  Wyborn's," 
as  Ann  said. 

"Well,"  said  Christie,  over  their  pseudo-French 
lunch,  "what  do  you  think  of  newspaper  work?" 

"I  think,"  said  Alison,  "that  you  ought  to  join  a 
paper  of  your  own  way  of  thinking." 

"That  wouldn't  be  journalism,"  said  Christie. 
"That  would  be  too  real.  It's  the  unreality  of  it  all 
that's  so  interesting.  Journalism  is  the  only 
romantic  employment  left.  To  express  your  own 
views  all  the  time  is  to  turn  the  journalist  into  a 
missionary." 

"But  it's  so  immoral,"  said  Alison,  "to  say  what 
you  don't  mean." 

"Journalism  is  immoral,"  said  Christie.  " I  guess 
that's  its  greatest  charm." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

IN  WHICH  A  RETIRED  BEAUTY  BECOMES 
WISTFUL 

MR.  INGLESIDE  never  proposed  to  Alison  that 
she  should  do  anything  to  earn  her  inde 
pendence.  That  was  part  of  the  difference  between 
the  two  girls  :  Ann  needed  an  outlet  for  her  activity, 
Alison  needed  none.  Ann  was  swift  and  practical 
and,  although  not  in  any  objectionable  sense,  selfish. 
Alison  was  unselfish  —  or,  as  the  cynic  would  say, 
her  selfishness  took  the  form  of  thinking  of  others. 
Ann,  as  we  have  seen,  had  come  home  with  the  idea 
of  helping  her  father ;  but,  seeing  how  completely 
his  wants  were  supplied  by  himself,  she  had  been 
glad  to  do  something  else.  Alison  had  no  such  pre 
conceived  plans,  but  she  had  quietly  and  un 
consciously  made  new  wants  for  her  father  which 
only  she  could  supply.  He  would  often  find  her, 
for  example,  waiting  for  him  in  Whitehall  what  time 
the  C.  B.s  realized  that  home  was  best.  She 
played  and  sang  to  him.  They  discussed  novels 
together.  That  Ann  was  not  such  a  companion 
was  of  course  not  Ann's  fault,  for  she  was  much 
younger.  In  a  girl  the  four  years  between  seventeen 
and  twenty-one  make  a  difference :  and  Alison, 
too,  had  seen  death. 

215 


2i6  MR.   INGLESIDE 

Had  Alison  permitted  herself  to  ponder  upon  the 
great  question  of  what  to  do,  instead  of  doing  a 
thousand  little  characteristic  things,  there  was  at 
any  rate  one  acquaintance  all  ready  with  a  suggestion. 
Miss  Parris  was  panting  to  shed  the  ray.  Miss 
Parris  was  that  indispensable  adjunct  to  family 
life,  a  sewing-woman  :  one  of  those  tidy  border- 
landers  who  treat  parlour  maids  with  dignity  and 
are  referred  to  by  parlour  maids  as  persons.  She 
was  elderly  and  coquettish,  and  it  was  evident 
that  a  career  of  prettiness  lay  behind  her. 

They  sat  at  the  window  sewing.  It  was  a  fine 
gusty  morning,  and  the  clouds  scudded  over  the 
wharf  buildings  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  as 
bravely  almost  as  if  the  Thames  were  the  real  sea. 
And  indeed  there  were  real  enough  waves  on  it. 
Skirts  were  flapping  on  the  Embankment,  and  now 
and  then  a  hat  blew  off .  Miss  Parris  glanced  at  the 
busy  trams  following  so  fast  upon  each  other.  "Very 
different  from  my  time,"  she  said,  fixing  her  time,  as 
is  the  tendency  of  the  sewing-woman,  rather  in  the 
past  than  the  present.  Not  that  Miss  Parris  was 
by  any  means  prepared  to  come  to  an  end  or  was  at 
all  lacking  in  vitality,  but  everything  that  happened 
to  her  now  in  her  maturity  appeared  unimportant 
and  trivial  in  comparison  with  the  hectic  triumphs  of 
her  heyday  when  she  was  Stella  De  Lisle.  Even  the 
name  of  Stella  is  no  more  —  dead  almost  as  Jabez, 
though  for  different  reasons. 

"In  my  time,"  said  Miss  Parris,  "there  was  no 
electricity  to  help  a  girl  to  get  to  Clapham  in  a  few 
minutes.  Nothing  but  an  old  lumbering  bus,  my 


MR.   INGLESIDE  217 

dear,  and  on  a  wet  night  you  had  to  fight  to  get  into 
that,  and  very  often  you  didn't  manage  it  then. 
Many's  the  time  I've  had  to  walk  home  after  the 
theatre  and  the  very  skies  falling.  London's 
very  different  now,  with  its  trams  and  tubes  and 
electric  light  and  taxicabs. 

"  You've  got  a  sweet  face  and  a  very  neat  ankle, 
my  dear,"  Miss  Parris  continued,  after  a  period  of 
thought.  "Why  don't  you  go  on  the  stage  ?  But  I 
suppose  your  pa  wouldn't  let  you." 

Alison  said  that  she  herself  did  not  care  about  it. 

"You  make  a  great  mistake,  my  dear,  believe  me," 
said  Miss  Parris.  "If  you  had  felt  like  that  in  my 
time,  I  could  have  understood  it  better ;  but  not 
now.  The  actress  of  to-day  is  a  woman  to  be  envied. 
Look  at  the  restaurants  open  to  her,  just  for  one 
thing.  In  my  time  there  were  no  Savoys  and 
Carltons ;  or  if  there  were,  they  weren't  full  of 
actresses  having  expensive  lunches  and  suppers. 
But  now?  I  sometimes  go  into  the  courtyard  of 
the  Savoy  just  to  see  the  little  dears  driving  up 
with  their  gentlemen  in  the  taxis.  'Ah/  I  say 
to  them,  only  they  don't  hear  it,  'if  you  weren't  on 
the  stage,  you'd  be  eating  half  a  pork  pie  with  a 
cup  of  cocoa  in  an  A.B.C."3 

"How  do  you  know  they're  actresses?"  Alison 
asked. 

"How  do  I  know?  How  do  I  know  my  own 
name?"  Miss  Parris  asked.  "Besides,  there's  the 
picture  post-cards."  Miss  Parris  sighed.  "Ah  !" 
she  resumed,  "it  is  when  I  look  at  the  picture  post 
cards,  my  dear,  that  I  feel  strongest  that  I  was  born 


2i8  ME.   INGLESIDE 

too  soon.  In  my  time  a  girl  might  be  as  pretty  as 
you  liked"  —  Miss  Parris  drew  herself  together 
with  a  little  pleased  movement  —  "and  only  the 
theatre-goers  knew  it.  There  were  photographs,  of 
course,  but  they  were  two  shillings  each,  and  only  of 
prima  donnas  and  premiere  dansooses  and  Ellen 
Terry  and  Violet  Cameron.  But  now  ?  Why,  I'm 
told  a  pretty  actress  can  make  two  or  three  hundred 
a  year  out  of  picture  post-card  fees  alone.  Isn't 
that  extraordinary  ?  " 
Alison  said  it  was  so. 

"And  the  tooth-powders,"  said  Miss  Parris. 
"There  was  plenty  of  tooth-powder  in  my  time,  of 
course  ;  but  we  didn't  say  so  much  about  it.  The 
papers  weren't  full  of  it  as  they  are  to-day.  There's 
one  house  where  I  go,  my  dear,  where  they  always 
put  the  Sketch  and  the  Taller  in  my  room,  and  it's 
extraordinary  how  they  run  to  pretty  actresses 
showing  their  teeth.  One  would  think  that  photog 
raphers  were  all  dentists.  I'm  told  that  an  actress 
with  a  good  set  can  make  a  fortune  out  of  the  tooth- 
powder  people  alone,  to  say  nothing  of  the  face- 
creams.  To  give  you  an  instance,  my  dear,  of 
how  fortune's  favours  are  distributed  in  this  world 
-  there's  a  literary  gentleman  lodging  in  the  same 
house  as  me  who  writes  face-cream  advertisements. 
You  know  them,  my  dear,  although  there's  little 
enough  need  for  you  to  —  the  stories  about  the 
society  lady  who  came  all  over  wrinkles  and  crow's 
feet  before  the  season  was  half  done,  and  after  trying 
everything  else  heard  of  So-and-so's  famous  poma 
tum,  and  lost  them  all  in  a  single  night?  That 


ME.   INGLESIDE  219 

kind  of  thing.  Well,  this  gentleman  writes  them, 
and  he  gets  a  guinea  each  for  those  that  are  ac 
cepted  ;  but  what  do  you  think  the  actress  gets 
for  her  portrait  to  be  used  along  with  them  ?  As 
much  as  two  hundred  pounds !  And  yet  people 
talk  of  the  decay  of  the  drama.  Why,  my  dear, 
the  drama's  only  just  beginning." 

Miss  Parris  remained  silent  again,  lost  in  the  con 
templation  of  golden  potentialities.  "And  when  I 
think  of  my  time  ! "  she  resumed.  "There  was  only 
hair  then,  and  they  didn't  go  to  actresses  for  that. 
Not  as  a  rule.  You  don't  remember  the  lady  in  the 
Mrs.  Allen's  restorer  picture?  Well,  she  wasn't 
an  actress.  I  happen  to  know,  because  there  was  a 
dresser  in  our  theatre  who  knew  who  it  was.  The 
face  was  everywhere,  but  with  no  name  to  it  —  no 
use  to  a  girl  at  all.  Not  like  the  tooth-powders 
to-day  !  The  consequence  was  that  the  pubic  didn't 
know  her,  poor  thing.  It  must  have  been  very  hard 
to  have  had  the  best-known  head  of  hair  in  England 
—  and  a  pretty  face  too  —  and  be  as  anonymous 
as  a  bus-conductor.  I've  no  doubt  in  my  own  mind 
that  many's  the  gentleman  that  must  have  tried  to 
get  her  name  and  address  from  Mrs.  Allen's  people  : 
but  whether  they  got  it  is  another  pair  of  shoes. 

"No,"  said  Miss  Parris,  "an  actress  in  my  time 
had  to  make  her  way  by  means  of  the  stage.  Of 
course  there  were  gentlemen  with  bouquets  at  the 
stage  door  after  the  show,  and  gentlemen  who  satin  the 
same  stall  every  night  and  clapped  their  hands  with 
meaning  right  at  their  own  favourites,  just  as  it  is 
now  and  I've  no  doubt  in  my  own  mind  always  will 


220  MR.   INGLESIDE 

be ;  but  for  want  of  the  picture  post-cards  and  the 
illustrated  papers  people  didn't  turn  round  in  the 
streets  then  and  say,  '  There's  So-and-so '  -  —  as  it 
might  be  Gertie  Schiller — as  they  do  now.  Oh,  dear, 
no !  Why,  I  can  only  remember  one  occasion 
when  I  heard  a  passer-by  say,  'That's  Stella  De 
Lisle/  and  I  found  out  afterwards  it  was  one  of  our 
own  scene-shifters  out  with  his  fiancee." 

Miss  Parris  remained  silent  for  some  time  after 
this  recollection. 

"Think  over  what  I've  said,"  she  remarked  at 
last.  "Your  pa  would  be  sure  to  come  round. 
They  always  do." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

IN  WHICH  THE  STARS  FIGHT  FOR  JOHN 

MARLTYE  was  certainly  a  very  beautiful  place. 
It  stood  alone,  not  far  from  Byfleet,  lying 
low,  as  Tudor  houses  always  did,  with  a  moat  three 
parts  of  the  way  around  it  and  a  number  of  cedar 
trees  stationed  like  sentinels  here  and  there  in  the 
grounds.  The  house  itself  was  of  brick  with  a  roof 
of  Horsham  stone,  such  as  the  deal  timbers  of  the 
present  time  are  incapable  of  supporting ;  but  the 
greater  part  of  both  walls  and  roof  was  covered  with 
the  little  vivid  self -clinging  ampelopsis,  which  prom 
ised  in  September  to  turn  fire. 

Miss  Muirhead  and  Miss  Lingard  stayed  at  the 
village  inn  for  some  time,  while  Miss  Muirhead 
examined  the  garden  alone  or  with  one  of  the  great 
professional  gardeners  whose  men  were  to  do  the 
work.  She  covered  their  sitting-room  with  plans 
and  sheets  of  figures. 

"What  I  want,"  Miss  Muirhead  said  to  Mr. 
Ingleside,  who  had  gone  down  for  the  day,  "is  some 
one  to  represent  me  here  and  see  that  the  men  work, 
and  to  send  me  a  report  every  now  and  then.  Have 
you  any  friend  that  could  do  that?" 

Mr.  Ingleside  at  first  said  that  he  had  not,  and 


222  MR.  INGLESIDE 

then  he  thought  of  John.  "Of  course,"  he  ex 
claimed,  "John  Campion"  ;  and  John  was  written 
to  and  asked  to  come  down  at  once. 

As  it  happened,  John  and  his  mother  were  en 
gaged  on  this  very  day  in  one  of  their  periodical 
conversations  on  the  subject  of  his  career  ;  so  that 
Mr.  Ingleside's  letter  dropped  opportunely  from 
the  sky. 

John  had  not  stayed  long  at  the  garage.  "I'm 
very  quick,"  he  explained.  "I  have  a  natural  apti 
tude  for  engineering,  the  manager  says.  There's  very 
little  I  don't  know  about  a  car.  All  I  need  now  is 
practice.  You're  not  looking  very  fit,  mother ; 
how  would  you  like  me  to  take  you  for  a  little  motor 
tour  about  England?  I  think  I  could  find  the 
time,  arid  it  would  set  you  up." 

But  Mrs.  Campion  declined.  "I  don't  think 
so  just  now,"  she  said.  "I  think  you  ought  to  be 
seriously  trying  to  get  something  to  do.  All  your 
friends  think  so  too.  Mr.  Ingleside  was  talking 
about  it  again  only  on  Sunday." 

"I  wish  people  wouldn't  talk  about  me  so  much," 
said  John.  "Why  the  devil  can't  they  mind  their 
own  affairs?" 

"It's  very  kind  of  them,"  said  his  mother,  "to 
interest  themselves  in  you.  But  seriously,  you  must 
make  up  your  mind  as  to  what  you  would  like  to  do. 
Then  I  can  help  you.  It's  difficult  to  help  you  if 
you  have  no  definite  object  in  view." 

"Well,"  said  John,  "I  have,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  it.  I  woke  this 
morning  horribly  early  —  quite  by  half-past  six,  I'm 


MR.  INGLESIDE  223 

sure  —  and  I  couldn't  get  to  sleep  again,  I  was 
thinking  so  hard ;  and  I've  come  to  the  conclusion 
I  should  make  an  excellent  director  of  a  large  con 
cern.  The  fellows  at  the  garage  were  very  much 
struck  by  my  sense  of  order  and  authoritative 
ways." 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Campion  replied,  "but  you  can't 
become  a  director  all  in  a  minute  at  your  age.  A 
directorship  is  a  kind  of  reward  for  long  years  of 
work." 

"There  you  go,"  said  John,  "throwing  cold  water 
on  the  whole  thing.  Can't  there  be  exceptions? 
Can't  there  be  born  directors?" 

Mrs.  Campion  said  that  there  might  be,  but  even 
then  there  was  a  difficulty  of  finding  companies  to 
direct.  "What  company  are  you  thinking  of?" 
she  inquired. 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  John,  "that  one  might  be 
found.  I  was  wondering  whether  you  and  Uncle 
Ralph  and  perhaps  Uncle  Bertram  might  not  like 
to  form  a  company?  I  hear  on  all  sides  that,  in 
spite  of  the  boom  and  all  the  new  companies,  the 
future  of  rubber  is  still  something  terrific.  Rubber 
is  wanted  for  everything  nowadays.  Think  of 
tyres  alone ;  and  then  there  are  hot-water  bottles, 
you  know,  and  artists.  Well,  I  was  wondering  if 
you  might  not  like  me  to  go  out  to  Borneo  or 
to  some  South  Sea  Island  and  acquire  a  tract 
of  land  for  you  to  grow  rubber  on.  I  feel  quite 
confident  that  I  could  get  on  perfect  terms  with 
the  natives  directly.  I  should  of  course  take  out 
beads  and  the  things  that  they  like.  Jack  For- 


224  MR.   INGLESIDE 

raster,  who  was  at  Merton  with  me,  has  got  a  job 
of  that  kind  and  he's  doing  splendidly,  and  he  was 
a  most  infernal  ass." 

"I  am  quite  sure  neither  of  your  uncles  would  be 
willing  to  invest  their  money  that  way,"  said  Mrs. 
Campion. 

"Well,  there  you  are,"  said  John.  " Everything 
is  against  me.  I  think  it's  a  great  shame  that  you 
didn't  make  up  your  mind  what  I  ought  to  be  when 
I  was  at  school,  and  then  I  could  have  been  prepared 
for  it.  Lots  of  the  fellows  knew  what  they  were  go 
ing  to  be  —  lawyers  and  doctors  and  things  like  that 
—  and  they  read  accordingly.  How  would  you  like 
me  to  be  sports  master  at  Eton?" 

"I  should  be  very  proud  of  you,"  said  Mrs.  Cam 
pion. 

"There's  no  chance,"  said  John.  "Those  things 
go  by  favouritism." 

"Well,  there  are  other  schools  that  want  sports 
masters,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Campion. 

"I  shouldn't  care  to  be  anywhere  but  at  Eton," 
said  John. 

He  found  Mr.  Ingleside's  letter  on  the  break 
fast  table  when  he  reached  it  at  eleven  the  next 
morning. 

"By  Jove,  mother,"  he  said,  "here's  a  go  !  Miss 
Muirhead,  the  great  gardener,  wants  me  to  superin 
tend  a  very  important  piece  of  work." 

"Miss  Muirhead!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Campion. 
"Oh  yes,  of  course,  Mr.  Ingleside's  cousin." 

"I  don't  know  what  that  has  to  do  with  it,"  said 
John.  "It  doesn't  matter  whose  cousin  she  is.  The 


MR.   INGLESIDE  225 

important  thing  is  that  she  wants  a  good  man  to 
help  her." 

"But  you  don't  know  much  about  gardening,  do 
you?"  asked  Mrs.  Campion. 

"There's  no  need  to,"  said  John.  "This  is  a  post 
of  responsibility  and  authority.  Some  one  is  wanted 
to  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  a  large  number  of  lazy  devils. 
But  so  far  as  that  goes,  I'm  very  keen  about  garden 
ing.  I've  often  thought  of  taking  it  up  seriously. 
Mrs.  Cathcart,  when  I  was  staying  there  last  week 
end  with  Jack,  said  my  colour  sense  was  remarkable. 
She  asked  my  advice  on  several  things.  But  what 
rot  to  be  talking  like  this  when  very  likely  the  train's 
gone." 

He  rushed  for  the  A. B.C.  and  found  that  there 
was  in  fact  nothing  that  could  now  get  him  to 
Marltye  for  a  picnic  lunch,  as  had  been  suggested 
in  the  letter. 

"There,"  he  said,  "that's  what  comes  of  not  call 
ing  me  properly.  I've  always  told  Purdon  to  knock 
twice,  to  make  sure,  and  I'm  certain  she  only  knocked 
once  this  morning.  Now  I  must  take  a  taxi." 

"But,  my  dear  boy,  it  will  cost  a  pound." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  John.  "You  wouldn't  have 
me  break  faith  with  them  and  be  late  on  the  first 
day?" 

Mrs.  Campion  did  not  continue  the  argument :  she 
merely  said  that  if  he  intended  to  drive  there  perhaps 
he  would  not  mind  her  going  too,  as  it  was  such  a 
nice  day.  John  was  by  no  means  radiant  under 
the  suggestion.  There  was  something  grotesque, 
he  said,  about  a  man's  being  accompanied  by  his 

Q 


226  MR.  INGLESIDE 

mother  on  such  an  occasion,  and  taxis  were  very 
jolty ;  but  he  magnanimously  waived  these  points, 
and  off  they  went  together. 

John  talked  all  the  way  of  his  new  work.  It  would 
necessitate  getting  rooms  in  the  village,  he  thought, 
and  perhaps  furnishing  them  decently.  He  would 
perhaps  get  a  horse  to  take  him  to  and  from  Marltye. 
It  was  rather  lucky  he  was  going  to  his  tailor's  this 
week,  as  he  would  need  one  or  two  roughish  country 
suits. 

Mrs.  Campion  said  she  was  sure  that  the  work 
would  not  entail  residence  there.  All  that  was 
wanted  was  frequent  visits.  John  at  first  scoffed  at 
this,  and  then  agreed.  "Very  well,"  he  said,  "then 
I  must  hire  a  motor  and  run  down  every  other  after 
noon.  You  can  come  with  me  sometimes,  mother. 
It  will  do  you  good." 

Miss  Muirhead,  however,  offered  too  little  for  such 
splendours.  John  was  given  a  room  in  the  house,  and 
the  resident  gardener's  wife  "did  for  him"  when  he 
stayed  there  ;  and  when  he  did  not,  he  travelled  to 
London  and  back  again  by  train.  And  thus  began 
his  career  as  an  earner  of  money. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

IN  WHICH  THE  CAPRICE  CARRIES  A  HAPPY 
PARTY  TO  A  TUDOR  GRANGE 

WHEN  Leslie  had  heard  about  Marl tye  Grange 
he  was  quite  excited. 

" I  know  it,"  he  said.  "The  old  oak  is  wonderful. 
I  tried  to  buy  the  staircase  a  year  or  so  ago  for  a 
house  I  was  altering,  but  they  wouldn't  part.  Very 
sensible  of  them.  I  think  the  Yankee  ought  to  let 
me  tinker  the  place,  just  to  keep  it  all  in  the  family, 
so  to  speak." 

As  it  happened,  Mr.  Thayer  was  at  that  very 
moment  writing  to  Miss  Muirhead  to  ask  her  to 
entrust  the  task  of  decorating  the  house  fittingly  to 
some  one  in  whom  she  had  confidence,  expense,  as 
before,  no  object ;  and  Miss  Muirhead,  who  knew 
all  about  Leslie,  passed  on  the  commission.  "I 
want  the  house  right,"  he  wrote :  "not  necessarily 
Tudor  inside,  but  right  and  comfortable — if  the  two 
things  will  go  together.  Every  room  must  have  hot- 
air  pipes  and  double  windows."  In  the  same  letter 
he  added  that  he  should  like  a  nice  drawing  of  the 
place  to  show  to  his  friends  if  Miss  Muirhead  could 
find  an  artist ;  and  of  course  who  could  that  artist  be 
but  Vycount  Ramer  ? 

"We're  all  in  this,"  said  Leslie,  the  next  Friday. 
227 


228  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"Let's  all  go  down  on  Sunday  and  explore  the  place. 
Doctor,  you  must  certainly  come.'7 

"  On  a  Sunday  ?  "  exclaimed  Dr.  Staminer.  "  Me  ? 
I  haven't  broken  the  Sabbath  for  years." 

"But  you  will  come,"  said  Alison.  "I'll  look  after 
you." 

"I  spend  Sunday  on  my  collections,"  said  the 
doctor.  "If  I  go  out,  my  housekeeper  will  give 
notice  :  she'll  think  I'm  mad." 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Alison,  "she  must  go,  and 
I'll  be  your  housekeeper  instead  ; "  and  on  this  under 
standing  the  doctor  agreed. 

"  Couldn't  we  go  by  water  ?  "  Mr.  Ingleside  asked. 
"You  say  it's  near  Byfleet  ?  Couldn't  we  go  up  the 
river  as  far  as  the  mouth  of  Wey,  and  then  up  the 
Wey  as  near  to  Byfleet  as  possible?" 

"  Of  course,"  said  Leslie,  "  the  very  thing.  I'll  ar 
range  it  all." 

The  Caprice  held  six  in  addition  to  its  tattooed 
engineer ;  and  the  Inglesides,  Richard  Oast,  Dr. 
Staminer,  and  Miss  Muirhead  made  up  the  party, 
the  others  going  by  train.  Mrs.  Campion,  John, 
and  Leslie  were  to  arrange  the  hospitalities. 

Now  it  is  worth  while  pausing  to  ask  if  there  could 
be  a  more  delightful  enterprise  than  this  —  to  leave 
Charing  Cross  pier  by  river  on  a  fine  Sunday  morn 
ing  in  full  summer  in  order  to  meet  at  a  moated 
grange  and  discuss  its  furniture  and  its  garden,  on 
both  of  which  unlimited  money  belonging  to  some 
one  else  is  to  be  spent  ?  No  wonder  every  one  was 
happy.  Mr.  Ingleside  was  happy  because  his  guests 
were  happy.  Alison  was  happy  because  it  was  all 


MR.  INGLESIDE  229 

so  interesting.  Ann  was  happy  because  it  was  her 
weekly  holiday,  and  she  was  only  eighteen.  Miss 
Muirhead  was  happy  because  she  had  just  succeeded 
in  buying  for  Marltye  a  perfect  set  of  full-grown  chess 
men  in  yew  from  an  old  garden  in  Gloucestershire 
which  was  being  demolished,  and  this  was  more  than 
Mr.  Thayer  would  dare  to  expect  even  for  all  his  six 
blank  cheques  rolled  together.  Dr.  Staminer  was 
happy  because  he  was  doing  such  a  novel  thing  under 
such  pleasant  conditions.  Richard  Oast  was  happy 
because  it  was  a  fine  day  and  his  boat  was  doing  its 
duty.  Timbs  was  happy  because  the  Caprice's 
engine  was  running  so  well.  So  much  for  the  boat 
load.  As  for  the  others,  Henry  Thrace  was  happy 
because  that  was  his  nature.  Mrs.  Campion  was 
happy  because  she  liked  everybody  in  the  party  and 
liked  Mr.  Ingleside  most.  Vycount  Ramer  was 
happy  because  he  was  in  the  country  and  was  to  be 
well  paid  for  it.  John  was  happy  because  he  was 
visibly  in  a  position  of  authority.  Leslie  was  happy 
because  he  was  a  born  decorator  and  Marltye  was  so 
attractive  a  subject  to  work  upon.  And  the  Whit- 
takers,  the  caretakers,  were  happy  because  all  the 
chimneys  of  the  house  once  more  were  emitting  smoke, 
and  it  looked  like  an  earnest  of  occupation  again ; 
for  no  gardener  really  likes  it  when  his  employers 
are  away,  howsoever  he  may  abuse  their  freakish- 
ness  and  unreason  at  the  village  inn. 

The  Caprice  and  its  crew  drew  every  eye  on  the  voy 
age  to  Weybridge,  while  the  little  boys  on  the  bridges 
paid  them  the  usual  compliments  of  little  boys  on 
bridges,  but  such  was  the  boat's  speed  that  these 


23o  MR.   INGLESIDE 

always  miscarried.  They  had  left  Charing  Cross 
pier  at  nine,  before  anyone  was  about ;  they  dashed 
by  Richard  Oast's  works,  where  the  Caprice  was  born, 
only  half  an  hour  later  ;  and  were  off  that  charming 
row  of  old  gay  houses  just  east  of  Kew  Bridge  by 
ten,  as  the  tide  was  with  them.  And  so  under  the 
new  bridge,  and  past  the  minaret  chimney,  and  be 
tween  the  Gardens  on  the  one  side  and  the  flat  grey 
meadows  of  Sion  House,  and  past  sombre  Isleworth, 
to  Richmond,  with  its  shaggy  hill  and  the  terraces  of 
the  Star  and  Garter  rising  almost  as  though  they 
were  on  the  Riviera. 

Richmond  drew  from  Dr.  Staminer  reminiscences 
of  his  early  days  when  a  walk  from  London  through 
its  park  was  a  regular  Sunday  excursion,  dropping 
down  to  a  little  inn  at  Ham  for  lunch  ;  while  Pope's 
villa  on  the  other  side  of  Twickenham  Ferry  drew 
a  few  couplets  from  Mr.  Ingleside,  who  knew  the 
Epistles  and  Satires  by  heart.  And  so  on  to  King 
ston's  busy  waters,  where  the  first  real  signs  of  the 
Sunday  holiday  were  noticeable.  And  then  round 
Hampton  Court's  park  to  the  Court  itself,  more 
Tudor  far  than  the  Tudor  destination  they  were 
bound  for.  Here  Miss  Muirhead  insisted  on  landing 
in  order  to  glance  for  a  moment  at  the  famous  her 
baceous  border  under  the  great  wall ;  but  she  was 
allowed  only  ten  minutes,  and  again  the  engine 
throbbed,  past  Hampton  village  to  Sunbury,  where 
they  lost  another  ten  minutes  in  the  lock. 

As  they  proceeded  higher  and  the  hour  grew  later 
the  boats  began  to  be  more  numerous  :  spotless 
punters  emerged,  dressed  like  fashion  plates ;  river 


MR.   INGLESIDE  231 

girls  with  sunshades  and  novels  and  terriers  ;  anglers 
on  cane-bottomed  chairs,  in  boats  moored  to  poles  ; 
here  and  there  an  outrigger  ;  here  and  there  a  launch. 
And  always  the  green  banks,  always  the  wondering 
cattle. 

And  so  after  passing  Walton  and  Shepperton  they 
steered  southwards  down  the  tributary  Wey  to  the 
point  where  Leslie  was  waiting  with  a  wagonette. 

And  then  came  the  new  excitement  of  driving 
through  the  country  to  a  place  one  has  never  visited 
before :  the  speculation  as  to  what  it  will  be  like ; 
the  wondering  if  those  are  its  chimneys,  or  those,  and 
what  the  next  bend  in  the  road  will  unfold.  Oh, 
the  bends  in  the  English  roads  ! 

Marltye  at  last,  and  there  was  Mrs.  Campion  all 
smiles  and  John  all  importance,  and  lunch  would  be 
ready  in  half  an  hour.  Ramer  they  found  at  his 
easel  in  the  garden  with  something  uncommonly 
like  a  proprietary  expression  on  his  face.  "A  little 
bit  of  all  right,"  he  said:  "Brother  Jonathan's  in 
luck." 

During  the  interval  Leslie  lectured  to  them  illu- 
minatingly  on  the  exterior  of  Marltye.  He  drew 
their  attention  to  the  smallness  of  the  bricks  and  the 
increased  effect  of  charm  which  they  possessed.  He 
remarked  upon  how  simple  a  thing  it  was  to  build  a 
chimney  diamond  shape  instead  of  square  with  the 
house,  and  how  much  more  decorative  and  pleasing 
was  the  result.  "A  few  white  pigeons  on  the  roof, 
and  the  place  is  perfect,"  he  said.  Then  he  led  them 
through  the  rooms. 

"What  I  particularly  like  about  this  commission," 


232  ME.   INGLESIDE 

said  Leslie,  "is  that  it  comes  from  an  American 
millionaire  with  no  nonsense.  He  has  money  and 
he  spends  it.  All  my  clients  lately  have  been  wealthy 
men  who  affect  to  be  Socialists.  There  is  nothing 
that  these  fellows  won't  spend  on  the  luxuriousness 
and  efficiency  of  their  places  while  they  are  getting 
ready  to  do  the  right  thing  with  their  money.  They 
order  the  very  latest  thing  in  electric  fittings  and  at 
the  same  time  ask  me  as  a  friend  if  I  can  advise  them 
as  to  the  kind  of  communistic  settlement  that  is  most 
in  need  of  endowment.  They  keep  eight  gardeners 
and  two  cars,  and  run  up  to  town  to  hear  and  cheer 
Sidney  Webb  on  the  nationalization  of  property. 
They  never  see  the  incongruity.  'It  is  necessary 
for  the  proper  development  of  my  ameliorative  proj 
ects,'  they  say,  'that  I  should  be  above  worry  and 
discomfort/  And  their  docility  in  the  name  of  art ! 
There's  a  Socialist  plutocrat  I  visited  the  other  day 
whose  architect  is  one  of  those  cranks  who  allow  no 
pictures.  The  walls  of  his  rooms  are  so  beautifully 
proportioned  and  washed  that  any  alien  body,  such 
as  a  Corot  or  a  Matthew  Maris,  would  strike  a  dis 
cordant  note — would  be,  in  short,  an  impertinence. 
So  here  was  my  Croesus,  sitting  in  bare  rooms,  with 
attics  full  of  Barbizon  masterpieces  !  He  too  was 
meditating  upon  the  right  way  to  do  good  with  his 
money,  while  a  fountain  was  playing  in  the  grounds 
to  the  tune  of  ten  pounds  a  day. 

"Now  there's  nothing  of  that  about  our  Yankee. 
What  he  says  is  :  '  Miss  Muirhead,  make  me  the 
most  beautiful  garden  that  money  can  buy.'  'Mr. 
Leslie,  furnish  my  house  as  well  as  it  can  be  fur- 


MR.   INGLESIDE  233 

nished ;  expense  no  object.'  That's  what  I  call 
sound.  He  shall  have  both.  I  ask  you"  —  for  this 
long  harangue  came  at  the  end  of  lunch — "I  ask 
you  to  raise  your  glasses  to  Mr.  Clarence  Thayer, 
the  prince  of  neo-Elizabethans." 

They  all  drank  the  health,  but  Dr.  Staminer  begged 
leave  to  add  an  amendment.  "I  am  drinking,"  he 
said,  "not  only  to  the  best  of  neo-Elizabethans,  but 
also  to  the  most  foolish." 

"Treason,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 

"Yes,"  said  Dr.  Staminer,  "the  most  foolish.  I 
don't  know  how  Mr.  Thayer  spends  his  time  —  pre 
sumably  on  Wall  Street  or  in  the  Pit,  making  corners 
— but  it  is  perfectly  clear  that  already  he  has  money 
enough  ;  and  how  a  man  who  has  money  enough  can 
go  on  making  more,  and  allow  a  foreigner  like  Leslie 
here  to  have  all  the  joy  of  amassing  Chippendale  and 
Heppelwhite,  blue  china  and  old  oak,  beats  my 
imagination.  I  cannot  follow  him.  None  the  less, 
his  health." 

"What  troubles  me  about  Mr.  Thayer,"  said  Miss 
Muirhead,  "is  that  I'm  afraid  he'll  spoil  the  country 
people.  He's  one  of  those  rich  men  who  throw  their 
money  about  and  are  in  danger,  with  the  best  inten 
tions  in  the  world,  of  becoming  wreckers.  I've  seen 
a  good  deal  of  it :  in  fact,  it's  the  spot  on  my  business. 
A  rich  man  buys  an  estate,  and  very  likely  evicts  a 
dozen  cottagers  or  so  as  a  start ;  pulls  down  their 
homes  ;  and  begins  to  build  his  house  and  make  his 
garden.  The  wretched  evicted  people  very  likely 
have  to  settle  in  a  town,  especially  if  he  is  trans 
forming  a  farm  into  a  park  and  pleasure  grounds ; 


234  MR.   INGLESIDE 

while  those  that  remain  are  turned  from  simple 
farm  labourers  into  feudal  retainers.  Indepen 
dence  goes.  His  wife  very  likely  takes  up  patron 
age  as  a  hobby,  to  kill  time ;  every  one  is  spoiled ; 
greed  creeps  in.  Surrey  of  course  is  naturally  so 
full  of  this  kind  of  thing  that  I  need  not  worry  very 
much  about  Marltye ;  but  it  is  dreadful  to  see  it 
breaking  out  in  the  really  independent  counties." 

"You  are  quite  right,"  said  Richard  Oast.  "There 
is  no  public  nuisance  much  worse  than  the  rich  men 
whose  money  makes  other  people  discontented.  It 
is  a  bad  day  for  almost  every  one  when  he  grows 
richer ;  but  it  is  worse  for  a  poor  man  than  any. 
The  evil  done  by  good  men  is  always  the  most  subtly 
mischievous ;  and  of  all  evil,  that  which  proceeds 
from  easy,  unthinking  generosity  is  probably  most 
dangerous  in  country  places.  But  the  last  thing 
that  rich  people  will  learn  is  how  to  be  generous 
wisely." 

"Oh,  that'll  do,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "I'm  quite 
sure  you're  right,  and  I'm  quite  sure  your  own  gen 
erosity  is  not  always  dictated  by  wisdom.  This  is 
a  kind  of  talk  that  leads  nowhere.  Let's  look  at 
the  garden." 

Miss  Muirhead  led  the  older  members  of  the  party 
about  the  grounds  and  discoursed  on  her  theory  of 
arrangement — how  the  bowling-alley  was  to  be  here 
and  the  chess-men  there  ;  where  the  terraces  and  the 
fishpond  ;  and  so  forth.  Mr.  Ingleside  implored  her 
to  have  a  space  somewhere  for  a  Japanese  sand  lawn. 
"You  plant  the  edges  with  silver  birches,"  he  said, 
"and  then  you  watch  their  exquisite  shadows  creep 


MR.   INGLESIDE  235 

over  the  sand.  No  one  ever  walks  on  it ;  it  is  just 
a  material  for  light  and  shade." 

But  Miss  Muirhead  said  that  the  blank  cheques 
were  for  a  Tudor  garden  and  a  Tudor  garden 
only. 

Leslie  gave  Ann  a  pencil  and  a  notebook,  and  they 
went  from  room  to  room  taking  measurements  and 
provisionally  choosing  colours ;  while  John  took 
charge  of  Alison  and  led  her  all  over  the  estate. 

"I'm  very  strict  about  time/'  he  said.  "I  take 
no  liberties  with  the  clock  myself,  and  I  don't  allow 
my  men  any.  There  is  a  time  sheet  that  they  all 
have  to  sign.  I  sign  it  too,  just  as  a  matter  of  exam 
ple,  when  I  am  here." 

Alison  asked  him  how  often  he  came  down. 

"Twice  a  week,"  said  John  :  "on  Tuesday  even 
ing  for  Wednesday,  and  Friday  evening  for  Saturday. 
That's  all  that  Miss  Muirhead  requires.  You  see  I 
have  a  very  good  foreman,  a  capital  fellow.  In  fact, 
they're  all  very  decent  fellows.  There's  nothing  they 
wouldn't  do  for  me.  I  had  no  idea  I  had  such  a  way 
with  workmen.  I'm  a  born  overseer,  I  find." 

"Most  of  us  are,"  Alison  said. 

John  looked  at  her  a  little  suspiciously.  "Far 
from  it,  "he  said  :  "  it  is  a  very  rare  gift.  Most  men 
excite  animosity  in  their  employees,  but  here  we're 
a  perfect  happy  family." 

Alison  asked  him  what  he  did  with  his  days  there. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  have  to  fill  in  Miss  Muirhead's 
blank  maps,  so  that  she  can  see  what  has  been  done, 
and  write  her  a  letter  about  it  all,  and  post  them. 
And  of  course  general  supervision,  you  know." 


236  MR.  INGLESIDE 

Alison  said  that  she  hoped  he  was  not  overwork 
ing  himself. 

"I  try  not  to,"  he  said;  "but  I  always  get  so 
keen  on  what  I  am  doing  that  it's  a  great  snare.  I've 
no  doubt  I  shall  break  down  some  day,  and  have 
to  travel.  Unless,"  he  added,  with  a  glance  at  her, 
which,  however,  she  did  not  notice,  "I  have  some  one 
to  look  after  me  and  keep  me  from  being  foolish." 

"Yes,"  said  Alison,  "I  suppose  most  men  want 
that.  They  talk  of  independence,  but  they  love  to 
be  dependent." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  John,  "it  would  not 
interfere  with  my  independence.  I  believe  in  wives 
doing  something  too.  Why  don't  you  learn  to  be  a 
gardener,  like  Miss  Muirhead?" 

"No,"  said  Alison.  " She  has  suggested  it  to  me, 
but  I  don't  care  about  it.  It  does  not  appeal  to  me." 

"There's  money  in  it,"  said  John.  "Look  at  Miss 
Muirhead  :  she's  rolling.  I  should  think  again  if  I 
were  you." 

They  came  back  to  the  moat,  and  John  told  her 
that  there  were  some  very  decent  fish  in  it.  He  said 
that  one  day  when  there  was  nothing  to  do  he  had 
caught  a  lot.  "Of  course  I  throw  them  all  back," 
he  added. 

"But  doesn't  it  hurt  them  to  be  hooked  and  then 
have  the  hook  torn  out  again  ?  "  Alison  asked. 

"Great  Scott,  no!"  he  said.  "They  adore  it. 
I've  caught  one  eight  times." 

And  so  the  day  wore  on  until  it  was  time  to  return 
to  the  Caprice  and  to  London. 

"To-morrow,"  said  Leslie,  as  he  wished  them  good- 


MR.   INGLESIDE  237 

bye,  "  to-morrow  I  begin  in  earnest.  First  the 
builders  and  carpenters,  then  the  decorators,  and 
then  the  great  hunt  for  furniture." 

"Happy  man  I"  said  Dr.  Stammer. 

As  for  Alison  and  Ann  and  the  gardening,  they 
both  remained  firm. 

Miss  Muirhead  laid  stress  on  the  interest  there  is 
in  making  paradises  out  of  wildernesses,  and  she 
showed  them  some  fascinating  coloured  books  — 
Humphry  Repton's  and  others  —  with  agricultural 
scenes  on  which  were  movable  slips,  which  being 
lifted  up  disclosed  gentlemen's  places :  mansions, 
drives,  lawns,  and  lakes,  where  had  been  nothing  but 
arable  land.  She  also  discoursed  upon  the  charm  of 
the  great  florists  :  what  nice  men  they  were,  at  any 
rate  the  older  members  of  the  firms,  for  the  most  part 
the  founders.  " Their  sons,"  she  added,  "are  not  so 
good,  naturally ;  for  whereas  the  fathers  came  from 
the  soil,  the  sons  come  from  the  universities.  But 
no  florist  can  be  a  bad  man.  Think,"  she  said,  "of 
making  a  new  purple  !" 

But  the  girls  were  obdurate.  That  was  not  the 
life  they  had  in  mind,  and  they  would  not  give  way. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

IN  WHICH  JOHN  PERMANENTLY  RE 
NOUNCES  THE  SEX 

MR.  INGLESIDE  sank  into  Mrs.  Campion's 
most  comfortable  chair. 

"He  is  here,"  he  said. 

"Who  is  here?"  Mrs.  Campion  asked. 

"Alison's  lover.     Who  else  could  it  be?" 

"I  didn't  know  she  had  a  lover,"  said  Mrs.  Cam 
pion. 

"Of  course  she  has,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "Since 
she  is  twenty-one  and  my  daughter  whom  I  have 
hardly  ever  seen,  of  course  she  has  a  lover." 

"I  hope  you  like  him,"  Mrs.  Campion  replied. 

"He  seems  to  me  harmless,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 
"He  has  no  money  and  a  nice  face.  He  treats  me 
with  profound  respect  bordering  on  fear  ;  but  I  hear 
high  enough  spirits  going  on  when  the  door  is  shut. 
But  like  him  ?  What  did  you  consider  my  attitude 
to  him  was  likely  to  be  ?  It  isn't  even  as  if  he  could 
afford  to  give  me  good  cigars." 

"But  if  he  has  no  money  .  .  ."  Mrs.  Campion 
began. 

" That's  only  at  present,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "He 
has  a  very  wealthy  aunt  who  will  probably  make 

238 


MR.   INGLESIDE  239 

him  comfortable.  At  present  he  is  an  officer  on  the 
0.  &  P.,  but  he  is  shortly  to  settle  down  and  find 
something  on  land." 

"Like  John,"  said  Mrs.  Campion. 

"Yes,  like  John  —  except  that  this  young  man 
means  it.  He  has  got  his  Alison ;  he  will  now  get 
his  post." 

"Then  you  have  given  your  consent?" 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "what  is  one  to  do? 
I  don't  see  that  I  have  any  real  say  in  this  matter. 
Here  is  a  nice,  sensible  girl  of  twenty-one  who  has  no 
home  but  my  bachelor  rooms,  and  she  lets  herself  be 
fallen  in  love  with  by  a  quite  nice  and  capable  young 
man  on  a  long  voyage." 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Campion.  "  Long  voy 
ages - 

"And  at  a  time,  too,"  Mr.  Ingleside  continued, 
"when  her  heart  was  lonely  and  bruised.  That's 
when  it  began.  Then  he  went  out  to  Japan  again 
and  found  it  was  only  too  real,  and  so  directly  he 
returned  he  saw  her  and  called  on  me.  But  that's 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  She  falls  in  love  and  naturally 
wants  to  be  married.  Is  it  reasonable  that  I,  who 
hardly  know  her  —  who  simply  happen  years  ago  to 
have  become  her  father,  and  have  no  real  place  for 
her  in  my  life  now  and  never  have  had  —  is  it  likely 
I  am  going  suddenly  to  assume  parental  rights  and 
say  no  ?  Besides,  supposing  I  did,  what  then  ? 
They  would  marry  just  the  same." 

"Of  course  they  would,"  said  Mrs.  Campion. 

"Probably  from  your  house,"  Mr.  Ingleside  rejoined. 
"I  see  you  naturally  befriending  all  young  lovers 


24o  MR.   INGLESIDE 

against  their  elders.  Very  well,  then,"  he  continued, 
"I  say  yes.  I  should  no  doubt  have  added  some 
thing  about  their  taking  time  and  so  forth.  But  why  ? 
A  girl  who  is  going  to  be  married  is  no  real  use  to 
anyone  else.  She  would  merely  be  an  excrescence 
in  our  strictly  celibate  abode.  All  my  friends  are 
celibate.  You  see  my  hand  has  been  forced.  The 
day  is  with  the  young :  my  time  is  over.  I  am  a 
back  number.  I  sit  on  a  shelf  and  bleat  out,  'Yes, 
my  children.  Bless  you  !  May  you  be  happy  !" 

"Don't  be  so  bitter,"  Mrs.  Campion  said.  "You 
have  no  right  to  be,  either.  You  were  young  once  : 
you  can't  have  it  all  again." 

"True,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "but  that  does  not 
prevent  one  from  regrets.  But  anyway,"  he  con 
tinued,  "I  am  bored  by  all  this  marrying.  I  like 
Alison,  and  I  want  her  at  home.  But  even  if  she 
were  not  my  daughter  I  should  be  bored  by  it.  I 
think,  and  shall  think,  that  a  frank  unmarried  girl 
with  many  interests  and  quick  sympathies  is  a  great 
deal  more  interesting  than  a  married  woman  of  the 
same  age.  Unmarried  and  unattached  she  is  a 
companion  ;  married  she  is  a  monopoly.  Her  mind 
goes  :  she  becomes  merely  a  reflection  or  extension 
of  her  husband.  In  place  of  her  wide  interests  she 
concentrates  on  petty  housekeeping  affairs  and 
worries  and  the  well-being  of  her  capturer  and  con 
queror.  It  is  no  doubt  all  right  for  him,  who  has  his 
slave  at  last ;  and  for  her,  who  has  her  idol  at  last 
(these  being  the  two  things  that  men  and  women 
want)  ;  and  no  doubt  it  is  all  right  for  Nature,  who 
has  brought  together  another  couple  at  last ;  but  for 


MR.   INGLESIDE  241 

every  one  else  it  is  ridiculous.  Society  may  gain  a 
baby,  but  it  has  lost  a  charming  presence." 

Mrs.  Campion  laughed.  "  You  are  horribly  anti 
social/'  she  said.  "Your  critical  fastidiousness  is 
uncanny  and  I  am  sure  wicked.  I  can't  think  why 
I  like  you.  And  you  talk,  too,"  she  continued,  "as 
if  married  women  had  no  kind  of  intelligence  and 
attraction  at  all." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "I  was 
referring  only  to  happy  wives.  It  is  they  who  are 
such  a  loss.  Unhappy  wives  can  be  excellent  com 
pany." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Campion,  "I  shall  ask  Alison 
to  bring  him  here.  What  is  his  name  ?" 

"His  name  is  Bryan  Hearne,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 
"Ann  seems  to  have  met  his  aunt  in  the  course  of 
her  commercial  avocations — Miss  Larpent ;  rather 
a  rum  'un,  I  think,  but  sound  as  a  bell.  Thank 
Heaven,  I  shall  have  Ann.  Ann  shows  no  signs  of 
capitulating,  and  she  is  too  young,  too.  I  look  to 
Ann  to  lead  my  tottering  footsteps  to  the  Queen's 
Hall  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  for  many  years  to 
come." 

"Or  one  of  Alison's  daughters?"  Mrs.  Campion 
suggested. 

"How  terribly  you  talk!"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 
"Grandchildren  !  Had  I  thought  of  that  I  believe 
I  should  have  said  no  instantly." 

"Would  you  also  deny  Alison  the  joy  of  being  a 
mother?"  Mrs.  Campion  asked. 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 
"  I  was  thinking  of  my  own  feelings  as  a  grandfather." 


242  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"Preferential  treatment  once  more,"  said  Mrs. 
Campion.  "But  you  were  very  nice  to  Alison 
about  it  all,  I'm  sure,"  she  added. 

"I  hope  so,"  said  her  father. 

"Dear  girl,  I'm  so  glad.  I'm  sure  she  hugged 
you." 

"  Yes,  she  did.  But  you  don't  seriously  expect  me 
to  get  any  satisfaction  out  of  a  hug  given  to  me 
because  I  had  made  it  easy  for  her  to  leave  me  for 
ever  and  live  with  this  man?" 

"Why  must  you  analyze  ?" 

"Analyze  !  I  hope  I  am  too  old  to  attempt  to 
analyze  the  meaning  of  a  daughter's  hugs  ;  but  I  do 
protest  against  being  asked  to  look  upon  such  a  sign 
of  complete  self-satisfaction  as  an  expression  of  af 
fection  for  me." 

"Oh,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Campion,  "we  shall  never 
agree." 

"Of  course  we  shan't,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "We 
don't  talk  each  other's  language,  or  think  each  other's 
thoughts,  or  follow  the  same  system  of  logic.  How 
can  we  agree?  But  we  can  do  something  much 
better  :  we  can  be  very  good  friends." 

John  returned  home  that  evening  in  excellent 
humour.  "There  was  a  little  difficulty  among  the 
men  to-day,"  he  said,  "but  I  settled  it  very  quickly. 
All  it  needed  was  a  strong  hand.  Really,  mother,  I 
wish  you  could  see  me  as  an  overseer  :  you  would 
understand  me  better.  I  think  of  advertising  in  the 
Times  for  a  post  as  general  supervisor  of  any  large 
operations." 

After  dinner  he  prepared   to  go   out.     "Good- 


MR.  INGLESIDE  243 

night,"  he  said;  "I  shall  probably  be  late.  I'm 
going  round  to  the  Inglesides'.  I  want  to  arrange 
with  Alison  about  taking  her  to  Brooklands." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Campion,  "but  she  prob 
ably  won't  be  so  keen  about  it  as  she  used  to  be." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  she's  engaged." 

"Engaged  !    What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Engaged  to  be  married." 

John  looked  at  his  mother  in  disgusted  amaze 
ment. 

"Not  really!"  he  said.  "How  perfectly  rotten. 
Who  is  the  man?" 

"An  officer  on  the  ship  that  brought  her  back 
from  Japan." 

"As  long  ago  as  that!"  he  said.  "What  cats 
women  are !  And  to  let  me  take  her  about  as  I 
have  done  !  Well,  I'm  blessed ! "  He  raged  up 
and  down  the  room  for  a  while.  "  All  right,"  he 
began  again,  "  I  give  up  women  from  this  mo 
ment.  Do  you  hear,  mother?  I  give  them  up. 
Good-night." 

"But  where  are  you  going?"  Mrs.  Campion 
asked.  "Not  to  the  Inglesides'  now?" 

"Great  Heaven,  no  !  I'm  going  to  walk  about. 
This  wants  thinking  over." 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  don't  pretend  you  were  in  love 
with  Alison  yourself?"  said  Mrs.  Campion. 

"  No,  not  exactly,"  said  John.  "  But  I  was  think 
ing  of  being.  I  thought  women  could  see  things  like 
that." 

"Perhaps  she  could,"  said  Mrs.  Campion;  "but 


244  MR.   INGLESIDE 

it  doesn't  follow  that  she  would  necessarily  approve 
or  reciprocate." 

"Well,"  said  John,  "she's  brought  it  on  herself. 
A  fishy  sailor,  too  !  What  does  she  want  with  sailors  ? 
Wives  in  every  port  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

"But  he's  going  to  leave  the  sea  and  get  a  post 
on  land." 

"Ha  !  that's  a  likely  story  !  We  know  how  diffi 
cult  that  is  !  Look  at  me  !  But  what's  the  use  of 
talking  ?  I  give  her  up.  I  give  up  all  women.  I 
shall  probably  emigrate.  Good-night." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

IN  WHICH  MR.  BRYAN  HEARNE  APPEARS, 
AND  A  FATHER  IS  LEFT  DUBIOUS 

MR.  BRYAN  HEARNE  had  called  on  Mr. 
Ingleside  at  his  office  only  a  day  or  so 
before.  It  had  not  been  the  easiest  of  interviews. 
How  could  it  be?  With  however  bold  a  front  he 
might  view  the  angry  Bay  or  the  frenzied  Mediter 
ranean,  the  treacherous  Gulf  or  the  Roaring  Forties, 
Mr.  Bryan  Hearne  looked  the  picture  of  diffident 
humility  as  he  stood  in  the  room  in  Whitehall,  hoping 
to  leave  it  the  richer  by  an  affianced  father-in-law. 

He  had  reached  the  lobby  of  the  office  with  a 
certain  fund  of  determination  ;  but  in  the  laborious 
process  of  gaining  admittance  to  Mr.  Ingleside  that 
had  completely  disappeared.  No  lover,  however 
ardent,  should  go  as  a  perfect  stranger  for  so  fateful 
an  interview  as  this  to  a  Government  Department. 
The  architects  of  such  buildings  leave  no  place  for 
romance ;  the  personnel  equally  exclude  it.  The 
final  blow  came  when  the  exceedingly  deliberate 
messenger  between  Mr.  Ingleside  and  the  world 
returned  to  know  what  was  the  nature  of  Mr.  Bryan 
Hearne's  business.  He  wrote  "private  and  urgent," 
and  again  steeled  himself  to  patience.  As  nearly  as 
he  was  able,  in  his  tender  and  gentle  and  forgiving 

245 


246  MR.   INGLESIDE 

condition,  he  reproached  the  absent  Alison  for  her 
refusal  to  speak  first.  But  she  had  said  nothing  to 
her  father  yet.  Mr.  Bryan  Hearne  was  a  bolt  from 
the  bluest  of  skies. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  Mr.  Ingleside  asked. 

The  obvious  reply  was,  "Give  me  your  eldest 
daughter  ;"  but  Mr.  Bryan  Hearne  was  too  shy  and 
simple  to  say  anything  as  telling  as  that — simple 
and  telling  and  fluent,  too,  as  he  had  been  known 
to  be  in  his  intercourse  with  clumsy  sailors. 

"I  wanted,"  he  said  at  last,  "to  ask  you  about  — 
about  —  marriage." 

"Marriage?"  Mr.  Ingleside  asked.  "Marriage 
in  general,  or  your  own  marriage  ?  " 

"My  own  marriage,"  said  Mr.  Hearne. 

"Is  it  a  failure?"  Mr.  Ingleside  asked  again. 

"Oh  no,"  Mr.  Hearne  hastily  interposed.  "You 
see,  I'm  not  married  yet.  I  —  I  want  to  be." 

"Yes  .  .  .?"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 

This  was  an  awful  moment.  Any  reasonable  par 
ent  with  a  marriageable  girl  ought  to  have  divined 
the  situation. 

"I  came  to  ask  you,  sir,  if  —  if " 

"Yes?" 

"If  you  would  consent — but  hasn't  Miss  Ingleside 
—  hasn't  Alison  said  a  single  word?  I  implored 
her.  .  .  ." 

"Oh,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside  shortly.  " This  is  a  pro 
posal.  You  are  asking  for  my  daughter?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Hearne,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"Yes." 

"But  do  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside, " that 


ME.  INGLESIDE  247 

she  has  only  quite  recently  returned  from  a  long  voy 
age?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Hearne,  "that  was  how  I 
met  her.  I  am  an  officer  on  the  boat." 

"And  it  was  you  who  were  at  Tilbury?" 

"Yes." 

"Ah,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "now  I  am  beginning  to 
understand  things.  You  must  excuse  me  for  being 
so  confused.  You  see,  this  is  a  subject  which  you 
have  probably  been  more  or  less  living  with  for  some 
weeks,  whereas  I  heard  it  first  only  three  minutes 
ago.  ...  It  is  very  startling,  almost  revolutionary. 
.  .  .  Alison,  you  must  understand,  has  just  returned 
to  live  with  her  sister  and  me  ;  we  were  to  see  much 
of  each  other,  for  the  first  time ;  and  you  propose 
—  a  perfect  stranger  —  to  monopolize  her  and  carry 
her  off." 

"Not  monopolize  her,  I  hope." 

"My  dear  sir,  of  course  you  will  monopolize  her. 
There  are  no  two  ways  in  these  matters.  Until  she 
is  married  she  will  live  with  me,  eat  my  food,  and 
think  of  you.  After  she  is  married  she  will  not  even 
be  under  my  roof.  That's  true,  isn't  it  ?" 

Mr.  Hearne  said  that  he  feared  it  was. 
"But " 

"  But  it  can't  be  helped  ?  It's  the  law  of  Nature, 
you  mean?"  Mr.  Ingleside  asked. 

Mr.  Hearne  said  that  that  was  exactly  what  he  had 
meant. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  marry?"  Mr.  Ingleside 
inquired. 

Mr.  Hearne  thought  it  was  because  he  loved. 


248  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"Can't  you  love  and  not  marry?" 

"It  is  of  course  possible,"  Mr.  Hearne  replied,  "but 
why  should  we?"  He  added  that  he  feared  that 
waiting  was  not  much  in  his  line. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside  at  last,  "let  me  have 
the  names  of  one  or  two  persons  to  whom  to  write  to 
about  you  —  and  tell  me  something  about  your  af 
fairs  ;  and  I  will  talk  to  Alison.  I  don't  pretend  to 
say  that  this  interview  has  made  me  happy ;  but  I 
admit  that  it  probably  was  bound  to  come.  You  will 
hear  from  me  very  soon." 

Mr.  Ingleside  sent  a  message  to  say  that  he  should 
not  be  home  to  lunch.  Instead  he  bought  some 
fruit,  and  taking  his  seat  in  the  Caprice,  told  Timbs 
to  go  to  Greenwich. 

He  was  not  happy ;  but  it  soothed  him  to  watch 
the  water  and  the  wharves.  There  is  no  scene  of 
beguilement  so  certain  as  a  river.  Mr.  Ingleside 
was  thinking  about  his  life  :  Arnold's  lines,  so  often 
in  his  mind,  fitted  themselves  to  the  throb  of  the 
Caprice's  engine  — 

"  Yes !  in  the  sea  of  life  enisled. 
We  million  mortals  live  alone." 

It  had  been  his  lament  for  years  —  it  stood  almost 
at  the  head  of  his  long  and  ever-lengthening  indict 
ment  of  Fate.  He  found  that  he  had  never  liked  — 
he  did  not  dare  to  say  loved  —  Alison  so  much.  She 
was  threatened,  and  he  wanted  her.  Cause 
and  effect.  He  laughed  at  the  irony  of  his  dis 
covery.  .  .  . 
And  this  young  Hearne.  Was  he  a  philopro- 


MR.   INGLESIDE  249 

genitive  ?  He  hoped  so.  Marriage  should  be  con 
fined  to  such.  Alison  was,  he  was  sure,  but  of  Ann 
he  was  doubtful.  .  .  .  Hearne  had  looked  a  candid 
and  simple  fellow.  None  of  your  damned  modern 
sophistication  about  him.  .  .  . 

Mr.  Ingleside  looked  up  and  found  a  huge  vessel 
was  being  moored.  The  first  officer  was  standing 
like  a  statue  on  the  peak,  only  his  eyes  moving  as  he 
watched  the  cables  shortening.  Sailors  were  run 
ning  about.  The  captain  was  smoking  calmly  on 
the  bridge,  talking  with  the  pilot. 

"And  that  young  fellow,"  thought  Mr.  Ingleside, 
"is  going  to  leave  this  fine  life  to  marry  Alison  and 
settle  down."  It  vexed  him.  It  seemed  a  poor 
exchange.  .  .  .  "Dear  girl,"  he  murmured,  "poor 
girl " 

"Alison,"  he  said  that  evening,  stroking  her  head, 
"Alison,  why  do  you  want  to  leave  me  so  soon?" 

"Oh,  I  don't,"  she  said,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears. 

"And  yet  you  do,"  her  father  rejoined. 

Alison  cried  quietly  for  a  little  while.  Mr.  Ingle 
side  said  nothing :  he  had  nothing  to  say.  What 
has  a  tired  man,  who  has  failed  to  keep  his  promises 
and  does  not  believe,  to  say  to  a  young  girl  in  love  ? 

"And  you  liked  him?"  Alison  asked  at  last. 

"I  liked  him  immensely,"  said  her  father.  "Write 
and  ask  him  to  dine  here  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

IN    WHICH    VARIOUS    PERSONS   RECEIVE 
THE    GREAT  NEWS 

"\\  7ELL,  Alison,"  said  Richard  Oast,  "I  am 
V  V  glad  to  hear  you  are  engaged.  I  like  early 
marriages.  I  was  married  when  I  was  only  twenty, 
and  I  never  regretted  it,  nor,  I  believe,  did  my  wife. 
No  nation  that  grows  calculating  about  marriage  is 
ever  on  the  up-grade. 

"If  Hearne  is  really  leaving  the  sea,  as  your  father 
tells  me,  and  looking  for  something  on  land,  I  think 
I  might  be  able  to  help  him.  But  don't  let  that 
worry  you,  anyway.  If  you  both  want  to  be 
married  soon,  be  married.  I  get  out  of  patience  when 
I  see  young  people  going  on  year  after  year  betrothed 
to  each  other  and  not  daring  to  marry  'until  William 
has  a  clear  three  hundred  per  ann.  !'  Why,  he'd 
have  twice  that  sum  if  he  married.  I  married  on 
eighteen  shillings  a  week,  and  so  far  from  mar 
riage  adding  to  expenses,  it  halved  them.  It's  only 
travel  that  adds  to  a  married  man's  expenses  :  that 
is,  if  he  marries  the  right  woman. 

"There's  not  enough  happy  fatalism  in  these  days  : 
we're  all  so  cautious  and  far-seeing.  The  best  advice 
anyone  ever  gave  in  this  England  of  ours  was  Syd 
ney  Smith's  when  he  told  a  depressed  friend  to  'take 

250 


MR.  INGLESIDE  251 

short  views.'  You  marry  directly  Hearne  comes 
back  from  his  next  voyage,  my  dear,  and  you'll 
never  regret  it.  Cut  the  engagement  as  short  as 
possible." 

Christie  heard  the  news  with  a  distress  that  he  had 
difficulty  in  concealing,  and  he  left  early  to  think  it 
over.  But  his  grief  was  not  very  long-lived,  for  the 
next  morning  brought  the  catalogue  of  a  sale  of  water- 
colours  which  contained  three  or  four  examples  that 
he  greatly  desired,  and  he  therefore  withdrew  from 
the  bank  the  nest-egg  which  had  been  accumulating 
there  against  possible  matrimonial  needs,  and  made 
arrangements  with  a  little  dealer  to  bid  for  the  treas 
ures  :  and  in  the  excitement  of  these  proceedings  he 
resumed  his  normal  state  of  cheerfulness.  Never 
waste  your  pity  on  a  collector. 

Henry  Thrace  was  rather  pathetic.  He  had  been 
so  fond  of  so  many  nice  girls  whom  he  had  known 
since  children  and  then  had  seen  fall  into  the  pos 
session  of  assertive  young  men.  It  was  his  destiny, 
he  knew,  but  he  could  not  refrain  from  a  certain 
wistfulness  and  sense  of  loss.  Alison  had  been  per 
haps  his  favourite  of  all ;  and  now  she  too  had  found 
the  real  thing.  He,  he  always  felt  —  always  knew 
in  his  heart  —  was  only  the  imitation.  So  must  our 
old  and  faithful  dogs  feel  when  the  new  puppy  enters 
the  house  and  gets  all  the  titbits.  But  Henry  was  a 
brave  and  good  man  whose  dominant  principle  in 
life  was  to  make  the  best  of  things ;  and  he  held 
Alison's  hand  and  wished  her  the  happiest  of  lives 
with  Bryan,  while  his  poor  eyes  swam. 

Vycount  Ramer  was  less  reserved.     "Why,  Ali- 


252  MR.   INGLESIDE 

son,"  he  said,  "this  is  a  shame.  Here  have  I  been 
spending  hours  over  my  toilet  on  Fridays,  hoping 
you  would  notice  me,  and  all  in  vain.  The  money 
that's  gone  on  plumage.  The  male  bird,  you  know. 
It's  lucky  I'm  not  a  dressy  man,  or  I  should  be  broke. 
As  it  is,  I  almost  had  my  trousers  creased.  And 
what's  the  result  ?  A  young  fellow  comes  along  all 
over  tar  and  seaweed,  and  you  jump  into  his  arms. 

"The  artists'  sun  has  set.  The  early  eighteen- 
eighties :  those  were  our  days.  We  wore  black 
velvet  and  had  our  admirers.  But  now  we  dress  like 
tramps,  cut  our  hair  short,  and  are  married  only  to 
our  pipes.  We  are,  in  fact,  under  a  cloud  every 
where.  Even  the  letters  R.A.  have  lost  their  power, 
and  to  elect  an  artist  to  that  honour  to-day  is  to 
distort  his  face  with  spasms.  What  did  for  us,  I'm 
not  sure ;  but  very  largely  the  Kodak  and  W.  P. 
Frith's  autobiography." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Boody,  who  had  never  been 
quite  sure  of  Alison's  complete  innocuousness  as  an 
elder  daughter,  and  was  now  put  for  ever  at  ease, 
"well,  Miss  Alison,  I  hope  you'll  be  happy;  and 
indeed  I  think  you  will,  for  Mr.  Hearne  has  the  face 
of  a  true  lover,  and  not  one  of  the  selfish  ones  who 
think  of  themselves  first  and  their  wives  next.  I 
know  what  I'm  talking  about,  Heaven  knows.  Of 
course  I've  done  my  little  bit  of  wondering  in  the 
kitchen,  like  the  rest  of  us,  with  all  those  unmarried 
gentlemen  so  thick  in  the  house  on  Friday  nights. 
And  I've  noticed  a  change  or  two  lately.  Mr.  Christie 
has  been  getting  much  more  the  dandy,  and  Mr. 
Ramer  has  cut  the  mustard  and  cress  off  of  his  cuffs 


MR.   INGLESIDE  253 

in  a  way  he  never  used  to  do.  At  one  time,  indeed, 
I  thought  that  Mr.  Christie  might  be  the  happy 
man ;  but  I'm  glad  you  chose  elsewhere.  He's  as 
nice-spoken  a  gentleman  as  one  could  wish,  and  always 
has  a  little  joke  with  me,  but  I  don't  see  him  as  a 
husband.  Not  the  lasting  kind  that  Mr.  Hearne 
will  be.  Mr.  Hearne  !  He  makes  me  sorry  I  refused 
an  offer  I  had  when  I  was  in  my  first  place,  from  a 
sailor  on  the  Arethusa.  If  ever  I  married  again,  I'd 
go  to  the  sea,  like  you,  Miss.  They  have  such  straight 
eyes  and  nice  colouring,  and  a  comfortable  don't- 
care-a-damnishness  (if  you'll  forgive  me  the  ex 
pression  ;  but  listening  to  your  pa's  taught  me 
such  bold  words)  that  means  a  lot  to  us  poor  women." 

Ann  was  perhaps  the  least  sympathetic.  "You 
are  in  a  hurry,"  she  said.  "I  hope  I  shan't  marry 
till  I'm  older  than  that.  There  are  so  many  things 
to  do  first,  and  one  never  does  anything  after  one's 
married." 

"  But  if  you  love,"  said  Alison,  "  those  other  things 
either  don't  matter,  or  you  don't  want  to  do  them 
alone  any  more." 

But  Ann  was  only  just  eighteen. 

She  made  the  same  remark  to  Dr.  Staminer  that 
evening  when  he  asked  her  what  she  thought  of  it  all. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  know  what  you  feel.  You 
want  to  go  your  own  way  as  long  as  possible." 

" Of  course,"  said  Ann.  "We  are  here  only  once ; 
it  is  so  absurd  not  to  do  what  one  wants  to." 

"I  know,"  said  the  doctor  kindly,  "I  know.  Of 
course  one  wants  that.  But  between  going  your  own 
way  absolutely,  and  falling  in  with  other  people's, 


254  MR.   INGLESIDE 

do  you  think  there's  such  a  tremendous  gulf  ?  Would 
you  be  surprised  to  hear  that  the  difference  between 
always  having  a  good  time  and  not  always  having  a 
good  time  is  extraordinarily  small  ?  You  would,  of 
course,  yet  it's  true ;  but  it's  a  thing  you  can't 
believe  at  your  age.  A  little  kissing  of  the  rod  makes 
everything  sweeter." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

IN    WHICH    WE    MEET    WITH    TRUE    RO 
MANCE 

IT  was  a  Friday  evening,  and  novels  were  under 
discussion.  No  topic  is  so  certain  of  a  success 
ful  run,  no  matter  where  it  is  started,  whether  among 
friends  or  strangers.  Indeed,  no  topic  probably  has 
turned  so  many  strangers  into  friends,  since  a  com 
munity  of  taste  in  stories,  and,  above  all,  in  charac 
ters,  is  a  community  of  taste  in  life,  and  that  is  the 
basis  of  intimacy.  Never  believe  the  people  who 
feel  assured  of  the  happiness  of  a  new  marriage  be 
cause  the  husband  and  wife  are  so  different  and  like 
different  things.  Happy  they  may  be,  but  it  will 
not  be  because  of  that,  but  in  spite  of  it. 

Novels  were  again  under  discussion.  "I  don't 
hold  with  novels  that  make  you  miserable  :  hardly 
indeed  with  those  that  make  you  think,"  Mr.  Ingle- 
side  had  said  :  "at  any  rate  not  with  those  that  con 
sciously  propose  to  make  you  think.  I  even  have  a 
theory  that  novels  should  not  be  true  to  life  at  all." 

"Not  true  to  life  !"  The  exclamation  was  almost 
general. 

"No,  not  true  to  life,"  Mr.  Ingleside  repeated. 
"If  ever  I  should  take  to  writing  stories  (and  the  con 
tingency  is  not  possible)  they  should  be  stories  not 

255 


256  MR.   INGLESIDE 

of  life  as  I  know  it,  but  of  life  as  I  wish  it  was.  That 
is  the  story-teller's  opportunity  and  privilege  :  to 
invent  a  better  state  of  things  than  he  lives  in. 
That  is  his  real  reward  for  his  trouble  :  not  the 
money,  but  the  pleasure  it  gives  him  to  escape  for 
a  while  from  facts.  And  after  his  own  escape  comes 
his  readers'.  The  book  is  their  chance  too." 

"Then  you  shut  out  the  realists  altogether?" 
some  one  asked. 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "It  is  partly 
because  of  the  impossibility  of  being  a  realist,  at  any 
rate  in  England, —  and  I  expect  everywhere,  in  any 
language, —  that  I  have  come  to  these  conclusions. 
Obviously  no  English  novelist  can  be  more  than 
partly  a  realist :  and  a  partial  realist,  a  realist  who 
has  to  leave  out  the  truly  important  things,  is  more 
misleading  than  an  out-and-out  idealist.  Don't 
you  see  ?  No,  there  is  too  much  talk  about  the  mis 
sion  of  the  novel.  The  novel  has  no  mission  but  to 
provide  an  escape.  The  other  books  —  the  turgid 
tracts  on  public  questions,  the  stories  with  a  purpose 
-  are  not  novels  at  all,  and  it  is  time  that  a  new 
name  were  given  to  them.  They  are  all  right,  but 
they  should  declare  themselves.  They  have  no  right 
to  pretend  to  be  honest,  genial  romances,  and  all  the 
time  want  your  blood  —  that  is,  your  improvement. 
There  is  a  limit  to  the  masquerades  in  which  the 
preacher  is  entitled  to  appear ;  when  he  affects  to 
be  a  novelist,  the  imprint  of  his  cloven  hoof  ought 
to  be  on  the  title  page." 

Richard  Oast  came  in  as  Mr.  Ingleside  was  finish 
ing  his  remarks.  "  I  quite  agree,"  he  said.  "  When 


MR.   INGLESIDE  257 

one  is  out  for  pleasure,  of  course  one  wants  lies. 
And  the  novel-reader  is  surely  out  for  pleasure. 
Just  take  my  walk  here  this  evening.  I  leave  at 
nine  o'clock.  I  walk  along  Piccadilly,  and  see  the 
old  familiar  dreadful  sight.  I  turn  down  Leicester 
Square,  and  am  confronted  by  a  huge  building 
large  enough  for  the  offices  of  a  Government  De 
partment,  belonging  to  — what  ?  What,  in  the  name 
of  Christianity  and  Civilization  ?  The  National  — 
National,  mark !  —  the  National  Society  for  the 

Prevention  of  Cruelty  to ?    I  again  ask,  what  ? 

To  donkeys?  To  horses?  To  dogs?  To  politi 
cians  ?  No,  to  children.  The  National  Society  for 
the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Children.  I  had  never 
noticed  it  till  to-day.  Big  enough  to  govern  New 
Zealand  in.  And  then  past  the  grimy  picture  post 
cards,  the  anti-social  chemists,  of  Green  Street  and 
Villiers  Street,  I  come  to  you,  and  the  realists  expect 
me  to  welcome  the  books  and  plays  in  which  they  are 
going  to  give  an  artificial  reproduction  of  all  this 
squalor  and  ugliness.  I  tell  you  I  am  sick  of  facts. 
The  world  as  it  is  disgusts  me  :  I  want,  as  often  as  I 
can  get  it,  the  world  as  it  is  not. 

"I  shall  put  this  case  of  the  N.S.P.C.C.  to  my  friend 
Canon  Crosskeys,"  he  added,  "to-morrow;  but 
what's  the  use  ?  He'll  only  hide,  as  he  always  does 
when  I  take  him  a  real  corker,  behind  that  text  about 
babes  and  sucklings.  'Oh,  well,'  I  always  say, 
'  if  you  like  to  take  refuge  in  irony  .  .  . ! '  and  that 
makes  him  furious.  According  to  my  reading  of 
the  Evangel,  it  is  full  of  irony,  but  the  Church 
always  denies  it ;  the  Church  can't  bear  to  allow 


258  MR.   INGLESIDE 

Christ  so  much  modern  ability  as  that.  '  Blessed  are 
the  meek,  for  they  shall  inherit  the  earth.'  What 
is  that  if  it's  not  irony?  Obviously  it  is  not  true 
in  the  surface  sense  of  it.  But  how  true  otherwise 
—  for  the  meek  to  inherit  the  earth  !  We  see  them 
doing  it  every  day ;  it  is  all  that  the  peasants  of 
England  can  hope  for,  their  inheritance  of  earth, 
a  piece  seven  feet  by  three." 

It  was  then  that  Henry  Thrace  joined  in.  "I 
agree  with  both  of  you,"  he  said.  "I  certainly 
want  no  parade  of  facts  when  I  read  a  story. 
As  Oast  says,  there  are  facts  all  round  us ;  do  we 
want  to  find  them  again  when  we  have  taken  our 
boots  off  and  lit  our  pipes?  That  was  why  I  so 
rejoiced  in  poor  Ouida,  twenty  and  more  years  ago. 
Ouida  made  no  such  foolish  error.  Ouida  had  the 
right  instinct.  She  transported  us  to  a  new  world  — 
not  better  than  this,  but  utterly  different,  and  not 
the  less  strange  because  some  of  its  features  were 
familiar." 

"  There  is  no  Ouida  now,"  he  added.  "  There  are 
women  novelists,  Heaven  knows,  but  they  are  either 
historians  of  normal  life,  and  clever  enough,  I'll 
admit,  or  they  have  missions  and  the  tete  montee." 

It  was  then  that  the  young  man  whom  Vycount 
Ramer  had  brought  said  something. 

"Do  you  know  Mrs.  Ros  ?"  he  asked  quietly. 

Henry  Thrace  did  not  know  her  ;  no  one  knew 
her. 

"Then  you  are  all  to  be  envied,"  said  he.  "Mrs. 
Ros  ddes  most  of  the  things  that  you  seem  to  require 
in  a  novelist.  The  life  she  describes  will  never 


MR.   INGLESIDE  259 

disconcert  you  by  reminding  you  of  your  own. 
She  is  a  born  novelist  —  that  is  to  say,  you  can't 
skip  her  ;  you  have  to  watch  her  all  the  time  ;  she 
makes  you  laugh  ;  and  you  are  wild  to  know  what 
happens." 

The  company  were  greatly  interested.  "  As  a 
matter  of  fact,"  continued  the  young  man,  "I  belong 
to  a  Ros  Society.  We  used  to  meet  together  to 
read  and  study  her.  My  rooms  are  quite  close ; 
if  you'll  allow  me,  I'll  fetch  her  masterpiece,"  and 
off  he  went. 

The  young  man  on  returning  pulled  a  volume 
from  his  pocket,  and  read  as  follows  : ' — 

"When  the  eve  at  last  arrived  that  she  should  say  fare 
well  to  the  little  room  that  had  grown  so  familiar  to  her, 
and  in  which  she  had  passed  many  a  bright  half-hour  in 
company  with  Lord  Gifford,  she  felt  quite  overcome,  as  she 
gave  the  last  finishing  stitches  to  the  cambric  cover  she  so 
patiently  had  been  endeavouring,  for  two  days  previous,  to 
make  her  masterpiece  of  design.  A  lengthened  sigh  followed, 
and  ere  its  echo  died  against  the  walls  of  steel-grey  tint, 
with  sprigs  of  lilac  shooting  forth  here  and  there  to  relieve 
its  dull  sameness,  the  door  was  quietly  opened,  and  Lord 
Gifford  entered.  His  keen  black  eye,  surrounded  with 
rings  of  swollen  sorrow,  soon  penetrated  her  heart,  as  she  sat 
with  her  work  only  finished,  two  corners  of  which  were  laden 
with  Nature's  dew. 

"'My  darling  virgin!  my  queen!  my  Delina !  I  am 
just  in  time  to  hear  the  toll  of  a  parting  bell  strike  its  heavy 
weight  of  appalling  softness  against  the  weakest  fibres  of  a 
heart  of  love,  arousing  and  tickling  its  dormant  action, 
thrusting  the  dart  of  evident  separation  deeper  into  its  tubes 
of  tenderness,  and  fanning  the  flame,  already  unextinguish- 
able,  into  volumes  of  burning  blaze/ 

"Throwing   his   arms   around   her   neck,   Lord    Gifford 


260  MR.   INGLESIDE 

allowed  tears  of  great  tenderness  to  further  damp  her  efforts 
of  success.  For  a  time  sobs  were  only  heard  issue,  until  the 
gravity  of  her  position  pointed  to  speedy  removal. 

"'Lord  Gifford,'  she  said,  'I  must  go.  I  have  already 
told  you  your  mother  has  appointed  me  to  teach  in  the  village 
school ;  and  as  this  is  my  last  evening  at  Columba  Castle, 
I  felt  sorry  leaving  my  little  room,  that  has  so  often  buried 
words  of  sweetest  encouragement  underneath  its  gilded 
roof  of  artful  azure.' 

"Covering  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  Lord  Gifford  sobbed 
aloud,  and  it  was  only  when  Delina  insisted  on  going  he  found 
words  to  reply. 

" '  Must  you  at  last  leave  my  home,  Delina,  my  darling  ? ' 

"'Oh,  I  must,  Lord  Gifford,  I  must.' 

"'Ah,  then,  this  is  only,  I  trust,  a  slight  bruise  my  hopes 
have  experienced,  a  slim  stroke  of  momentary  pain  that  can 
at  any  moment  be  obliterated,  and  the  page  of  silent  dis 
appointment  made  a  folio  of  virgin  beauty.' 

"Rising  to  her  feet,  Delina  shook  the  crumpled  folds  of 
her  worn  alpaca,  tied  her  chestnut  locks,  that  hung  in  wavy 
loveliness  over  her  well-formed  shoulders,  more  firmly ; 
donned  her  little  white  sailor  hat,  whose  flimsy  blue  band  had 
often  before  been  pronounced  brighter  in  colour;  drew 
her  greyish  gloves  over  her  snowy  hands  ;  then,  with  a  heavy 
dullness  dangling  about  her  eyes,  she  cast  one  final  look 
around  the  room  to  offer  a  long  farewell  to  its  plain  yet  lovely 
corners.  Extending  one  hand  to  Lord  Gifford,  she  felt 
speech  had  fled ;  and,  tightly  grasping  the  extended  tribute 
of  friendship,  he  slowly  rose  as  Lady  Gifford  entered. 

"'Well,  Delina,'  said  she,  while  a  fierce  look  stole  from 
her  angry  eyes,  'I  hope  you  will  get  along  nicely  at  your  new 
duty,  which  you  will  kindly  attend  on  Monday.' 

"Borrowing  instant  courage,  with  Lord  Gifford  in  the 
background  stifling  his  ire  as  well  as  his  sobs,  she  replied  — • 

"'I  trust  I  shall,  thank  your  ladyship,'  and,  bowing  lowly, 
left  the  room. 

"Lady  Gifford  couldn't  fail  perceiving  the  disappointment 
that  lingered  on  the  face  of  her  son  as  Delina  went  from 


MR.   INGLESIDE  261 

their  midst.  Without  further  remark,  Lady  Gifford  quitted 
the  room. 

"As  Delina's  hurried  steps  spake  farewell  with  a  crackling 
speechlessness  to  the  pebbled  avenue  on  which  she  so  often 
trod,  the  blackening  ball  of  sorrow  rose  within  her  heaving 
breast,  and,  as  its  invisible  body  clambered  to  the  narrow 
summit,  it  burst  asunder  with  a  sickening  sound,  scattering 
its  dying  echo  around  the  misty  hedgeway  along  which  she 
passed.  She  heard  not  the  sound,  she  felt  not  the  force  of 
her  tread,  her  sorrow  was  so  illimitable. 

"  Lord  Gifford,  clinging  to  the  vacant  room  in  the  horrors 
of  sorrow  —  how  those  deep  black  eyes,  laden  with  Nature's 
dewdrops,  shone  like  an  unsheathed  sword,  flashing  their 
angry  sheen  first  on  one  object  then  on  another,  then  yielded 
to  the  dart  of  blindness,  as  he  fixed  them  on  the  vacant  chair 
on  whose  stout  seat  Ddina  had  so  often  reclined. 

"Bathing  his  silken  handkerchief  with  tears,  he  muttered, 
'I'm  a  bloody  fool,  in  fact  one  of  Nature's  asses,  to  allow  my 
thoughts  to  master  me  in  such  a  fashion.'" 

"That's  the  real  thing,  isn't  it?"  the  young  man 
inquired,  as  he  closed  the  book. 

"It  is  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "Henry, 
what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"Great,"  said  Henry.  "I  must  have  that  book. 
I  shall  never  be  lonely  again." 

"Please  read  some  more,"  said  Ann. 

"Yes.     Find  another  plum,"  said  Dr.  Staminer. 

"Plums!"  said  the  young  man,  "she's  like  a 
Christmas  pudding,  she's  full  of  them.  You  don't 
have  to  find  them  :  they  jump  at  you.  Listen,  then. 

"  Of  the  want  of  charms  in  literary  men — 

'Mr.  John  Nougher,  the  head  teacher,  a  man  of  about 
fifty,  who  shared  only  slightly  in  the  few  prominent  charms 
attached  to  men  of  literary  standing.' 


262  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"Of  autumnal  tints  — 

'He  had  concealed  himself  for  some  time  before  her 
arrival  behind  an  old  beech  tree  thickly  populated  with 
leaves,  and  apparently  (to  an  outsider  of  the  woody  world) 
bathed  in  the  grapes'  bloody  juice/ 

"Of  forgetf ulness — 

'Turning  to  Delina,  he  said,  "Delina  darling,  I  feel 
extremely  grieved  at  what  has  happened,  and  trust  you  will 
allow  these  words  to  glide  into  buried  notice." 

'And  for  his  sake  so  she  did." 

"Of  a  lifelike  statue  - 

'The  first  white-gowned  statue  of  stationary  deadness 
was  that  of  Lord  Gifford's  late  father.  On  it  the  sculptor's 
handicraft  defied  comment.  So  naturally  formed  did  it  seem 
that  all  it  required  to  convince  the  severest  critic  of  its  noble 
representative's  animation  was  a  breath  of  Divine  Omnipo 
tence  blown  on  his  bald  north.' 

"Of  shame  - 

'Then  he  breathed,  sighed  heavily,  inwardly  saying 
again,  "Come,  courage,  come!  Heaven  help  me,  else  I 
dwindle  into  the  puddle  of  shame,  and  damp  not  only  my 
feet,  but,  alas  !  my  whole  body."  ' 

"Of  ecstatic  love  — 

'Lord  Gifford,  courting  defeat,  apparently  with  a  careless 
look,  suddenly  clasped  her  to  his  heaving  breast.  "My 
precious  darling!"  he  excitedly  exclaimed.  "A  moment 
of  bliss  has  at  last  crossed  my  path,  that  seems  constantly 
paved  with  lofty  looks  of  unpardonable  pride." 

'"I  hardly  understand  you,  Lord  Gifford,"  said  Delina, 
while  her  head  rested  on  his  breast.' 


Of  Lady  Mattie  — 


MR.   INGLESIDE  263 

'"Her  long,  yellow  hands,  thin  beyond  detail,  she  mostly 
keeps  powdered  and  jewelled  with  rings  of  every  shape  and 
form.  Then  her  features !"  Lord  Gifford  here  lit  a  cigar, 
and,  with  a  painful  distortion  of  his  face,  said  in  a  deep, 
sullen  tone  :  "Enough  —  enough.  But,  Lord,  how  sharp !" 

"Of  plighted  troth  — 

'Dazzled  with  the  brilliant  circlet,  Delina  could  only 
thank  him  in  silence,  while  tears  of  unbounded  joy  dropped 
from  her  fine  grey  eyes. 

'Thus  were  promised  in  marriage  two  which  private  oath, 
parental  objection  would  try  strongly  to  break,  or  cause 
that  wary  imp,  procrastination,  to  so  extend  its  lengthy  aid 
and  solace  to  the  heart  of  the  wounded  as  to  remove  all  stains 
of  degradation  contemplated  by  youthful  decision,  and 
transform  them  into  marks  of  reasonable  indelibility.' 

"Of  an  ash  tray  — 

'Lord  Gifford  sat  burying  in  the  silver  receptacle  that 
lay  by  his  side  the  deadened  ashes  of  feathery  manufacture 
produced  by  the  action  of  this  thin  lips.' 

"Of  a  maternal  welcome  — 

'"Home  again,  mother?"  he  boldly  uttered,  as  he 
gazed  reverently  in  her  face. 

'"Home  to  Hades!"  returned  the  raging,  high-bred 
daughter  of  distinguished  effeminacy.' 

"Of  eyelids  and  a  supplication  — 

'Then,  raising  her  huge  dark  eyes  towards  heaven  until 
hidden  underneath  their  appointed  protection,  she  prayed, 
in  accents  that  threaten  to  vibrate  against  the  starry  ceiling 
until  this  day  :  "Heavenly  Pater,"  she  began,  "listen  to  the 
words  of  a  daughter  of  affliction,  and  chase,  I  pray  Thee, 
instantly,  the  dismal  perplexities  that  presently  clog  the 
filmy  pores  of  her  weary  brain  into  the  stream  of  trickling 


264  MR.   INGLESIDE 

nothingness.  Bind  their  origin  with  cloth  of  coloured  shame, 
and  restore,  Thou,  her  equilibrium  with  draughts  of  soothing 
good." ' 

"Of  cutting  a  cigar  — 

'Longing  for  the  surrender  of  a  cigar  to  his  lifey  lips  of 
action,  Lord  Gifford  was  soon  seen  destroying,  by  a  necessary 
destructive,  the  butt-end  of  one.' 

"Of  a  good  woman's  eye  — 

'.  .  .  that  eye  in  whose  grey  depths  truth  is  the  only 
foundation,  and  falsehood  a  blasted  absentee.' 

"Of  early  rising  — 

'A  sharp,  shrill  ring  was  heard  below ;  a  convulsive  jump, 
and  Delina  was  standing  at  the  window,  peeping  at  the  great 
broad  steps  that  led  to  the  outer  door.  Nothing  was  visible 
save  these,  laden  with  heavy  raindrops ;  then  a  sudden  bang, 
and  Madam-de-Maine  was  announced. 

'"A  hellish  bang,  by  dad  1"  said  Lord  Gifford,  as  he  rose 
to  make  inquiry  as  to  its  cause.  "Early  on  the  move,  quite 
early  —  aye,"  he  growled,  as  he  felt  convinced  his  sheets  were 
no  more  to  be  heated  that  day.' 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Ros?"  Mr.  Ingleside  asked. 

"She  is  an  Irishwoman,"  said  the  young  man. 
"There  are  two  books  to  her  name,  but  Delina  is  the 
best.  I  wish  she'd  write  some  more.  Mrs.  Ros 
would  have  many  more  devotees  were  it  not  for  the 
difficulty  of  acquiring  her  books.  I  even  know  of  a 
copy  of  Delina  Delaney  having  been  purloined  from 
his  host's  shelves  by  a  Prime  Minister,  who  refused 
to  give  it  up." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

IN  WHICH  A  LADY-LOVE  IS  TAKEN  ROUND 
ON  EXHIBITION 

MR.  BRYAN  HEARNE  at  Buckingham  Street 
was  a  very  different  man  from  Mr.  Bryan 
Hearne  in  Whitehall.  He  manifested  a  sense  of  fun  ; 
he  talked  freely ;  he  chaffed  Ann ;  he  got  on  ex 
cellently  with  Dr.  Staminer,  for  whom  he  promised 
to  get  a  number  of  Oriental  curiosities  on  his  next  and 
last  voyage  ;  and  he  satisfied  Mr.  Ingleside  that  he 
had  the  makings  of  a  thoughtful  husband.  What 
ever  might  happen  in  the  future,  he  seemed  to  be 
Alison's  man  at  the  moment,  and  no  one  can  look 
farther  ahead  than  that. 

Bryan  having  been  an  only  child  and  having  lost 
his  parents,  Alison  was  spared  the  ordeal  of  steady 
acclimatization  in  his  household  :  no  small  escape, 
for  prospective  fathers-in-law  can  so  easily  be  too 
polite,  and  prospective  mothers-in-law  too  affection 
ate  or  otherwise,  and  brothers  and  sisters  too  criti 
cal  or  astonished  or  amused.  This,  therefore,  she 
missed,  except  in  a  modified  form  for  one  night 
only,  as  we  shall  see. 

Bryan,  however  (like  everybody  else),  had  some 
very  odd  relations,  and  Alison  had  to  be  displayed 
to  most  of  them. 

265 


266  MR.   INGLESIDE 

First  of  all  came  the  goose  with  the  golden  eggs  — 
or  Miss  Larpent ;  and  to  her  spotless  mansion  went 
also  Ann,  to  whom  the  old  lady  had  taken  a  strong 
fancy.  Ann  enjoyed  the  visit  more  than  Alison 
did.  For  one  thing,  her  early  correspondence  with 
the  servants  both  outdoors  and  in  seemed  to  place 
her  on  terms  with  them  ;  and  for  another,  she  was 
less  subject  to  her  hostess's  iron  will.  For  Miss  Lar 
pent  was  so  accustomed  to  direct  and  manage  that 
she  forced  her  nephew  and  Alison  to  live  strictly 
to  a  time-table  which  she  drew  up  for  them,  with 
prescribed  visits  to  the  neighbourhood  in  it.  Ann 
was  spared  these  duties,  and  was  allowed,  when 
Miss  Larpent  did  not  require  her  company,  to  roam 
where  she  would  or  read  in  the  library.  Every 
book  in  this  discreet  but  not  overworked  apart 
ment  was  bound  in  richly-tooled  red  leather,  and 
most  of  them  had  the  book-plate  of  Sir  Pyke  Larpent, 
K.C.B.  There  was  not  a  book  in  the  place  that  a 
gentleman,  whether  male  or  female,  should  not 
possess  ;  nor  was  there  one  lacking  which  a  gentle 
man  ought  to  possess.  Ann  was  at  first  rebuffed 
by  so  much  sumptuous  propriety,  tut  chancing 
upon  Barchester  Towers,  she  settled  down  to  be 
happy. 

Meanwhile  the  two  horses,  perfectly  controlled  by 
Mr.  Rigby,  were  conveying  Alison,  Bryan,  and  Miss 
Larpent  to  the  great  mansions  of  the  neighbourhood. 

Afterwards  came  the  other  uncles  and  aunts. 

There  were  Uncle  Hugh  and  Aunt  Emily  at 
Chislehurst,  whose  house  was  a  miracle  of  suburban 
comfort,  if  not  luxury.  Both  had  always  just  enough 


MR.   INGLESIDE  267 

malady  to  keep  them  to  a  specially  nourishing  diet 
and  particular  care ;  but  their  illnesses  were  never 
so  serious  as  to  interfere  with  the  gentler  pleasures 
of  life,  which  included  a  regular  spell  of  cultured 
travel  in  Italy.  Uncle  Hugh  was  a  book  collector 
by  post,  and  he  marked  a  catalogue  at  every  break 
fast  ;  Aunt  Emily  pampered  a  Pomeranian  named 
"  Snowy,"  read  French  novels  purely  for  their  psy 
chology,  and  from  the  sanctuary  of  her  sofa,  with 
her  feet  up,  in  the  security  of  wealth  and  decorum, 
sent  out  her  sympathies  to  every  variety  of  novelty 
and  revolt. 

"If  you  are  one  half  so  happy  as  I  have  been  with 
Bryan's  uncle,"  she  said  to  Alison,  "you  will  be 
fortunate.  He  has  never  denied  me  anything."  And 
she  believed  it ;  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  had 
never  given  her  anything,  except  money  for  lavish 
housekeeping  and  the  cushions  that  he  did  not  want 
for  himself. 

"  Of  course,"  Aunt  Emily  continued, "  some  women 
would  have  liked  children.  But  I  have  never  felt 
their  loss.  My  husband  has  been  my  child." 

There  was  Bryan's  Uncle  Philip,  the  rural  dean, 
at  Imping,  a  widower,  who  spent  a  great  part  of 
every  day  in  playing  himself  at  croquet.  They 
stayed  with  him  one  night,  and  he  gave  them  his 
blessing;  but  he  was  exceedingly  glad  to  see  the 
village  fly  arrive  to  take  them  to  the  station  the  next 
morning.  Not  that  he  was  inhospitable  or  selfish ; 
but  for  young  persons  in  love  he  had  no  natural 
enthusiasm. 

"Since  it  has  gone  so  far,"  said  Uncle  James,  "I 


268  MR.   INGLESIDE 

suppose  you  will  marry.  But  I  wish  you  would 
wait  another  ten  years  or  so.  You  will  both  know 
better  then  whether  you  really  are  suited  or  not. 
You  know  so  little  of  each  other  now.  I  am  not 
sure  that  in  a  perfect  state  anyone  should  marry 
but  widows  and  widowers  :  but  that,  I  fear,  is  some 
thing  of  a  bull.  You  see,  however,  what  I  mean  ? 
One  cannot  tell  whether  or  not  one  will  be  happy 
in  the  married  state  unless  one  has  tried  it." 

"My  dear,"  said  Aunt  Jane  afterwards,  when 
alone  with  Alison,  "I  hope  Mr.  Rawner's  remarks 
have  not  made  you  wretched  !" 

"Oh  no,"  said  Alison.  "I  think  that  what  Mr. 
Rawner  says  is  very  interesting.  Only  it  does  not 
seem  to  me  very  practical." 

"There  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Rawner  ;  "you  have 
said  it.  That  is  what  I  have  always  felt  about 
some  of  Mr.  Rawner's  ideas  ;  but  I  never  could  put 
it  into  words.  They're  not  practical.  But  in 
tensely  interesting  —  oh  yes." 

Aunt  Jane,  however,  even  had  she  found  words, 
would  never  have  said  them  to  her  husband's  face, 
having  for  him  a  worshipping  adoration  that  had 
turned  him  from  quite  a  decent  young  fellow  to  an 
opinionated  oracle  who  would  brook  no  interruption 
or  dissent.  Aunt  Jane  was  also  so  active  in  waiting 
upon  her  lord,  and  so  pervasive,  that  one  thought 
of  her  more  as  a  harem  than  one  woman. 

Uncle  James  was  a  scholar :  an  etymologist  of 
great  repute.  He  lived  in  luxury  in  an  old  and 
beautiful  house  in  the  Cotswolds,  in  the  company  of 
blue  Persian  cats  and  his  wife.  "And  why  marry 


MR.   INGLESIDE  269 

at  all  ?  "  he  went  on.  "You're  not  unhappy,  Bryan  ? 
You're  not  unhappy,  Miss  Ingleside?  You've 
both  been  quite  contented  hitherto?  Then  why 
marry?  Think  of  all  the  troubles  of  life  that  are 
in  store  for  you.  Furniture.  Drains.  Servants. 
Cellars.  I  name  these  only.  You  laugh ;  but 
they  are  not  laughable  really.  Only  this  morn 
ing  my  butler  broke  the  cellar  thermometer.  I 
insist  on  his  taking  the  temperature  of  the  cellar 
three  times  every  day  —  for  the  claret,  you  know 
—  and  it  will  now  be  Tuesday  before  a  new  ther 
mometer  can  be  obtained." 

"But  that  might  happen  to  a  bachelor's  butler," 
Bryan  remarked. 

Uncle  James  disregarded  the  interruption. 

Uncle  Victor  and  Aunt  Maud  were  a  less  enervat 
ing  couple.  But  their  old-fashioned  attitude  to  love 
was  rather  trying ;  for  Uncle  Victor  never  entered 
the  room  where  Bryan  and  Alison  were  without 
first  giving  a  loud  warning  cough,  followed  by  a  peal 
of  knowing  laughter  ;  while  Aunt  Maud  was  always 
inventing  pretexts  to  leave  them  together,  remember 
ing,  as  she  said,  how  young  couples  like  to  be  alone. 

"Well,  good-night,"  said  Uncle  Victor.  "You 
won't  mind,  I'm  sure,  if  I  switch  off  the  light." 
And  he  climbed  the  stairs  chuckling. 

"My  dear,"  Aunt  Maud  said,  "I  hope  that  you 
will  be  sure  to  make  your  father  see  the  clergyman 
who  is  to  conduct  the  service  and  get  him  to  make 
a  few  discreet  omissions.  So  very  outspoken  and 
unnecessary,  in  my  opinion.  Far  too  primitive. 
So  injurious  to  a  nice  spirit  at  a  wedding." 


270  MR.   INGLESIDE 

Poor  Aunt  Maud,  she  had  this  matter  very  much 
at  heart,  her  own  wedding  having  been  completely 
ruined  by  the  dear  Canon's  bluntness  ;  but  the  fact 
was  that  the  request  that  he  would  edit  this  portion 
of  the  Prayer  Book  had  been  put  to  him  by  her 
elder  sister  with  such  refinements  of  delicacy  that 
he  had  wholly  missed  the  point. 

But  the  worst  ordeal  was  Seagrave  House, 
because  there  were  there  not  only  an  uncle  and 
aunt,  but  cousins.  The  projection  of  a  pair  of 
lovers  upon  a  youthful  high-spirited  family  can 
lead  to  embarrassing  flights  of  humour,  especially 
when  one  of  the  pair  is  a  total  stranger.  Why 
love  is  still  so  comic  it  would  need  a  psychologi 
cal  essay  to  reveal ;  but  the  cynic  might  say 
that  we  hasten  to  think  it  comic  lest  we  should 
see  that  it  was  tragic,  as  the  philosopher  made 
haste  to  laugh  lest  he  wept.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  to  be  in  love  is  to  be  laughable  in  every 
normal  English  home.  By  the  boys  individually 
Alison  was  treated  with  some  aloofness,  as  one 
who  was,  as  they  say  at  the  exhibitions,  hors  con- 
cours;  by  the  girls  apart  she  was  looked  upon  as  a 
heroine  and  a  curiosity  to  be  studied  —  as  one  who 
had  reached  the  desired  haven ;  but  by  the  family 
as  a  whole  both  she  and  Bryan  were  regarded  with 
mirth  and  levity,  and  many  giggling  jokes  were  made. 

The  pleasantest  visit  was  to  Bryan's  only  sister, 
Mrs.  Rivett,  the  mother  of  three  children.  After  so 
much  middle-aged  and  elderly  self-protection  and 
comfortable  acceptance,  Alison  was  very  glad  to  be 
with  these  cheery  mites  on  the  threshold  of  life. 


MR.  INGLESIDE  271 

Prue,  the  eldest,  was  eight,  and  Sam,  the  youngest, 
four.  Between  came  Bridget,  aged  six.  They 
accepted  Alison  as  an  aunt  instantly. 

"I'm  glad  you're  going  to  marry  Uncle  Bryan," 
said  Prue,  "but  of  course  it's  a  pity  in  one  way, 
because  he  won't  be  able  to  bring  us  any  more  nice 
things  from  abroad." 

"But  couldn't  Aunt  Alison  go  too  ?" said  Bridget. 
"Captains  have  wives,  don't  they?" 

"Captains'  wives  stop  at  home,"  said  Prue,  "and 
mind  the  baby." 

"They  don't  always,"  said  Bridget.  " I  know  one 
that  didn't." 

"Who?"  asked  Alison,  quite  unprepared  for 
Bridget's  Biblical  erudition. 

"Noah's,"  said  Bridget  triumphantly. 

"Very  good,"  said  Bryan.  "I  shall  give  you  a 
new  Noah's  ark  for  a  prize." 

"Do  take  Aunt  Alison  with  you,"  said  Bridget, 
"and  go  on  being  a  captain." 

"I'm  not  a  captain,"  said  Bryan,  "and  I'm 
coming  to  live  on  land,  like  you  and  mother  and 
father  and  Prue." 

"Doesn't  Sam  live  on  land,  then  ?  "  Bridget  asked. 

"Yes,  and  like  Sam." 

"Then  why  won't  you  live  with  us?"  Bridget 
inquired.  "The  spare  room's  always  empty." 

On  the  night  that  she  returned  very  happily  to 
London  —  to  Mr.  Ingleside's  great  content  — 
Alison  received  her  first  wedding  present. 

"I  want  to  give  you  a  wedding  present,"  said  Dr. 
Staminer,  placing  a  parcel  in  her  hands,  "and  yet, 


272  MR.   INGLESIDE 

since  I  am  a  collector  and  this  is  something  out  of  my 
collection,  I  don't  want  to  give  it  to  you,  so  please 
take  it  quickly  and  hide  it,  or  I  shall  ask  for  it  back. 
It  is  a  very  sordid  feeling,  I  admit ;  but  if  you  also 
had  the  collector's  temperament  you  would  know 
that  to  give  away  anything  is  nearly  an  impossibility, 
and  to  give  away  anything  without  regretting  it  is 
quite  an  impossibility." 

Alison  knew  the  doctor  fairly  well,  but  his  words 
placed  her  in  a  dilemma,  for  they  were  so  evidently 
sincere. 

"Dear  doctor,"  she  said,  " please  don't.  ...  I 
would  so  much  rather  have  something  else.  .  .  . 
Anything  .  .  .  something  new  that  I  could  choose 
in  a  shop." 

"No,"  said  the  doctor.  "No.  I  want  you  to 
have  this.  It  is  good  for  you  to  have  it,  because  it 
is  very  rare  and  wonderful ;  and  good  for  me  to  give 
it,  because  I  am  an  old  pig.  But  for  Heaven's 
sake  don't  look  at  it  now  !" 

When  Alison  reached  her  room  she  opened  the 
parcel.  It  was  a  Madonna  in  wood  by  Claus  de 
Worde  ;  the  sweetest,  gentlest  most  benignant  un 
derstanding  creature  imaginable.  Alison  had  many 
other  gifts,  but  none  so  distinguished. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

IN    WHICH    OLD    MRS.    INGLESIDE    GIVES 
HER  BLESSING 

A  LISON  in  her  turn  took  Bryan  to  Hove  to  see 
JL\  old  Mrs.  Ingleside.  They  drove  out  with  her 
together,  and  afterwards  Alison  and  her  grand 
mother  had  an  hour  alone  before  dinner. 

To  Bryan  she  talked  exclusively  of  foreign  lands 
and  travel.  "You  must  have  seen  so  many  strange 
things.  Flying-fish.  Do  they  really  fly  ?  I  stood 
by  the  rail  the  whole  way  to  Calais  on  my  first  visit 
to  France,  hoping  either  for  a  flying-fish  or  a  por 
poise,  but  I  never  saw  one. 

"And  whales.  So  immense.  I  should  like  .to  see 
a  whale,  but  of  course  I  never  shall  now.  There's  a 
skeleton  head  on  the  West  Pier  :  wonderful. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Lassiter,"  Mrs.  Ingleside  called 
to  the  coachman.  "There's  the  poor  man  I  always 
give  something  to  ;"  and  the  carriage  stopped  to  per 
mit  an  able-bodied  wastrel  to  receive  his  gratuity 
and  utter  his  too  fulsome  thanks.  "Poor  fellow," 
said  the  old  lady,  "such  a  sufferer,  and  so  brave 
with  it.  I  have  several  poor  creatures  I  give  a  trifle 
to  ;  and  we  shall  come  to  my  flower-woman  directly. 

"And  now  tell  me  all  about  icebergs,"  she  said  to 
Bryan,  and  was  again  instantly  in  full  swing. 
T  273 


274  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"I  am  glad  that  young  man  is  going  to  leave  the 
sea,"  said  Mrs.  Ingleside  when  Alison  and  she 
were  alone.  "It's  a  very  treacherous  element,  my 
dear.  So  many  wrecks.  I  sometimes  shudder  to 
look  at  it  even  from  the  security  of  the  carriage 
as  we  drive  along  the  Front.  So  cruel  and  cold. 
Yet  I  suppose  the  ships  are  warm,  with  those  great 
funnels.  But  you  would  be  very  unhappy,  my 
dear,  every  time  the  wind  blew.  I'm  sure  you  would. 
And  the  long  absences.  Not  that  I  should  doubt 
Bryan  for  a  moment :  he  looks  to  me  as  honest  and 
true  as  the  day ;  but  long  absences  are  a  mistake. 
You  might  as  well  be  single,  my  dear. 

"He  seems  a  nice  young  man,  my  dear,  but  I 
should  like  to  know  a  little  more  as  to  what  he  is 
going  to  do  when  he  leaves  the  sea.  Don't  let  him 
be  a  lawyer.  I'm  sure  we  don't  want  any  more 
lawyers,  even  although  he  would  be  a  nice  one. 
Mr.  Meldrake  is  all  right :  I  can  trust  him  ;  and  in 
deed  where  should  I  be  if  I  could  not  ?  But  don't 
let  Bryan  be  one,  I  implore  you.  Use  your  influence, 
my  dear ;  you'll  never  have  more  than  you  have 
now.  You  can  do  anything  you  like  with  a  young 
man  when  he's  in  love  with  you." 

"But,  dear  grandmamma,"  said  Alison,  "he  has 
no  notion  of  being  a  lawyer.  It's  far  too  late,  too." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  the  old  lady.  "I 
dislike  lawyers  intensely.  I  have  known  several 
very  objectionable  ones.  There  was  Mr.  Diprose 
in  the  Old  Jewry  who  deceived  your  grandfather  so 
grossly,  and  after  dining  with  us,  too.  The  best 
sherry,  I  remember  :  something  very  special.  And 


MR.   INGLESIDE  275 

Madeira  afterwards.  No  one  drinks  Madeira  any 
more,  I'm  told.  A  little  heady,  perhaps,  but  a  per 
fect  dessert  wine,  in  my  opinion. 

"And  don't  let  him  be  a  doctor,  my  dear.  A 
beautiful  profession,  no  doubt ;  almost  a  sacred  one  ; 
to  heal  —  so  touching,  you  know  ;  but  I  always  feel 
sorry  for  doctors'  wives.  No  regularity  possible : 
late  meals,  short  and  broken  nights  ;  the  danger  of 
infection.  I'm  told  it's  against  the  law  for  a  doctor 
not  to  obey  a  summons  ;  and  think  how  unpleasant 
that  would  be,  poor  Bryan  in  the  dock.  And  the 
delay  of  becoming  a  successful  man.  Think  of  all 
the  expense  of  his  course,  beginning  so  late,  and 
the  anxiety  of  working  up  a  practice.  No,  my  dear, 
I  don't  think  he'd  better  be  a  doctor. 

"Nor  a  clergyman.  I  would  not  encourage  that  — 
not  because  I  do  not  admire  and  esteem  the  clergy, 
but  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  a  young  man  leaving 
the  sea  for  the  Church.  Not  the  right  preparation, 
I'm  sure.  Sailors,  my  dear.  So  profane.  Parrots, 
you  know :  one  hears  such  dreadful  things.  The 
Church  should  be  a  call,  I  think,  not  a  deliberate 
choice  like  that.  And  then  again,  the  expense  of 
the  preliminaries :  the  examinations,  so  trying ; 
Hebrew,  I  believe  ;  Greek  ;  the  waiting  for  a  curacy. 
And  then  the  curacy  itself.  Vicars'  wives,  I  am 
told,  can  be  so  vexatious.  I  remember  poor 
Mrs.  Rackshaw  very  vividly.  Such  a  temper, 
my  dear.  But  of  course  if  he  was  successful  it 
would  be  very  nice  for  you,  although  bishops'  wives 
have  no  title,  nothing.  Very  unfair,  I  think  — 
the  Lord  Bishop  and  plain  Mrs.  Not  just. 


276  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"Authors,  I  am  told,  make  a  great  deal  of  money, 
but  I  was  wondering  if  dear  Bryan  had  quite  enough 
of  just  that  sort  of  ability.  It's  very  special,  you 
know :  no  disgrace  to  be  without  it.  Your  dear 
father  was  always  clever  with  his  pen,  and  Heaven 
knows  where  he  got  it  from,  for  I  am  a  poor  hand 
at  writing  anything,  and  your  grandfather  spelt 
badly  to  the  end.  Tuesday  always  with  eu,  you 
know,  and  all  at  sea  with  his  eis  and  ies.  But 
so  kind  and  considerate,  and  the  soul  of  honour. 
Yet  Bryan  must  have  some  very  interesting  things 
to  write  about.  Those  flying-fish,  for  instance. 
They  tell  me  at  the  library  that  books  of  travel 
are  always  in  demand." 

"I  think  it  is  very  likely,"  said  Alison,  "that  Mr. 
Oast  will  find  a  post  for  Bryan  in  his  boat-building 
works." 

"Ah  !"  said  Mrs.  Ingleside.  "But  a  clean  post, 
I  hope.  No  black  oil.  A  position  of  control.  But 
he  must  be  very  careful  not  to  let  Mr.  Oast  influence 
him.  Those  dreadful  Socialist  notions.  No  prop 
erty  safe,  you  know.  And  the  Crown  too  —  so 
disloyal.  I  can't  imagine  what  your  dear  father 
can  see  in  that  man.  And  I  always  dread  that  his 
Department  will  discover  the  friendship.  But  there, 
your  dear  father  would  always  go  his  own  way. 
Even  when  quite  a  child  he  refused  to  wear  braces 
any  longer  and  bought  a  belt  with  his  own  money. 
A  little  roll  of  shirt  always  showing.  Well,  well." 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Ingleside  insisted  on  Bryan 
and  Alison  accompanying  her  into  Brighton  to 
choose  a  wedding  present. 


MR.   INGLESIDE  277 

"Something  that  you  both  decide  on,"  she  said. 
"We  must  go  to  Brighton.  Hove  has  excellent 
shops  for  all  the  necessaries  of  life ;  but  for  the 
luxuries,  Brighton.  I  want  to  get  you  something 
you  won't  have  to  exchange.  I  know  exactly  what 
it  is  :  a  large  silver  teapot.  Every  young  couple 
ought  to  have  one  and  never  part  with  it.  Very 
solid,  with  your  initials  engraved  on  it  in  a  nice 
intertwined  monogram.  I  have  quite  made  up  my 
mind." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

IN  WHICH  WE  BECOME  LISTENERS  IN  A 
NORFOLK  RECTORY 

BRYAN  having  left  for  his  last  voyage,  Alison 
was  naturally  a  little  lonely,  and  she  was 
therefore  not  sorry  when  Leslie  asked  her  one  even 
ing  if  she  thought  Mr.  Ingleside  would  let  her  off  for 
a  few  days  for  his  pageant. 

"How  exciting,"  she  said,  "but  I  don't  think  he 
would.  Do  you  mean  both  of  us  ?"  she  added. 

"Of  course,"  said  Leslie. 

"Ann's  so  busy,"  said  Alison ;  "and  I  shouldn't 
care  a  bit  for  it  without  her." 

"Well,  we  must  see,"  said  Leslie. 

Ann  was  quite  willing  to  go,  but  Mr.  Ingleside 
demurred. 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  want  them  for  ?  "  he  asked. 
"The  world's  full  of  girls  :  why  come  here  ?  Go  to 
a  house  where  there  are  several :  I  have  only  two." 
"But  I  want  them,"  said  Leslie.  "They're  exactly 
the  right  type  for  my  Tudor  head-dresses.  I  design 
them  as  maids  of  honour  to  Queen  Elizabeth." 

"How  do  you  get  Queen  Elizabeth  into  it?  She 
was  never  at  Bungay,"  Dr.  Staminer  interjected. 

"Never  at  Bungay  ! "  cried  Leslie.  " My  dear  sir, 
278 


MR.  INGLESIDE  279 

your  ignorance  of  history,  especially  of  Bungay 
history,  is  abysmal.  If  you  had  been  as  busy  in 
making  pageants  as  I  have,  you  would  know  that 
Queen  Elizabeth  was  connected  with  all  places. 
She  had  to  be  —  we  needed  it !  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
you  are  technically  right  in  denying  her  any  direct 
association  with  Bungay ;  but  only  technically. 
Her  interest  in  the  place  was  undoubted,  since  it  is 
on  record  that  she  once  remarked  to  an  importunate 
or  inconvenient  companion,  '  Oh,  go  to  Bungay  ! ' ; 

"But,  my  dear  Leslie,"  said  Dr.  Staminer,  "you 
don't  mean  seriously  to  tell  me  that  on  the  strength 
of  that  exclamation  you  drag  the  queen  into  your 
spectacle !" 

"Drag!"  retorted  Leslie.  "What  horrid  lan 
guage!  Certainly,"  he  continued.  " It's  historical, 
isn't  it  ?  Great  Scott,  sir  !  how  do  you  think  we 
can  make  decent  pageants  without  a  little  help  of 
that  kind  ?  All  very  well  for  Bath  with  its  King 
Bladud  and  Beau  Nash  ready  made,  and  running 
over  with  material ;  or  Winchester  with  Alfred  the 
Great ;  or  Pevensey  with  William  the  Conqueror ; 
or  Colchester  with  Old  King  Cole ;  but  Bungay 
had  to  get  along  with  less  assistance.  However, 
the  Bungay  Pageant  is  going  to  be  a  great  success, 
but  we  must  have  Ann  and  Alison.  We'll  have 
Ingleside  too  if  he  likes.  King  Stephen  would  suit 
him  down  to  the  ground.  And  you,  sir,  you'd 
make  a  first-rate  Benedictine  prior.  There's  room 
for  all.  There  are  costumes  for  hinds,  carles,  serfs, 
and  Ramer,  all  going  begging.  All  are  welcome." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "I  call  it  absurd, 


280  MR.  INGLESIDE 

coming  all  the  way  to  London  for  your  Norfolk 
tomfooleries.  Are  there  no  local  maids  of  honour  ?  " 

Mr.  Leslie  explained  that  the  local  ladies  were 
already  alotted  their  roles. 

"One  must  import  talent  into  a  small  town,"  he 
said. 

"It's  only  a  week,"  Alison  remarked. 

"Then  you  want  to  go?"  her  father  asked. 

"I  think  it  would  be  fun,"  Alison  admitted. 
"I've  always  heard  that  pageants  are  fun." 

And  it  was  therefore  settled. 

"But  don't  expect  to  find  me  here  when  you 
come  back,"  Mr.  Ingleside  warned  her.  "Prodigal 
daughters  can  do  it  once  too  often." 

They  were  invited  to  take  any  other  potential 
maid  of  honour  they  could  think  of,  and  Ann  at 
once  wrote  to  Sybil  Aylward  and  secured  her.  They 
were  to  stay,  Leslie  said,  with  some  old  friends  of  his 
at  Wilmingham  Rectory,  a  few  miles  out  of  Bungay. 
It  was  doubly  convenient,  for  the  rector's  wife  was 
Queen  Elizabeth  herself. 

"Not  that  she  is  at  all  Elizabethan,"  said  Leslie, 
"but  we  had  to  give  her  a  good  part,  as  she's 
rather  influential  and  has  guaranteed  a  large  sum. 
I  dare  say  she'll  look  all  right  in  a  red  wig,  but 
we're  all  sorry  for  the  Earl  of  Essex.  Her  husband, 
the  rector,  is  all  for  horses  and  dogs,  but  he's  a 
trump,  and  you'll  get  through  the  week  somehow. 
It's  jolly  good  of  you  to  go  anyway." 

As  it  happened,  the  girls  got  on  famously  with 
Mr.  Catt-Wilkins,  who  kept  the  church  (in  Sybil's 
words)  "so  exquisitely  in  the  background.  How 


MR.  INGLESIDE  281 

different  from  father!"  she  added,  "who  loved 
revivalist  services,  but  always  came  back  so  cross 
after  them.  He  never  seemed  to  care  much  for  his 
family  at  any  time,  but  the  nearer  he  had  been  to 
heaven  the  more  he  disliked  us.  I  suppose  it's  an 
awful  shock  after  the  excitement  of  feeling  fright 
fully  good  and  happy  to  return  to  the  same  old 
wife  and  the  same  old  children  and  the  same  old 
cooking." 

The  Reverend  Cyril  Catt-Wilkins  was  a  short  and 
round  man,  clean-shaved  and  ruddy,  who  knew  the 
Christian  names  of  all  his  parishioners.  To  ac 
company  him  in  his  dogcart,  as  the  girls  did  more 
than  once,  was  to  receive  a  liberal  education  in  rural 
nomenclature. 

"'Morning,  Tom.     How's  the  mare?" 
"  'Morning,   Ben.     We're  ready  for  another  of 
your  cucumbers !" 

"  'Morning,  Sam.     Misses  better,  I  hope." 
"  'Morning,  Fred.     Sorry  to  hear  your  voice  has 
cracked." 

As  for  his  sermons,  he  had  the  good  fortune  to 
possess  several  MS.  volumes  of  Sydney  Smith's, 
which  he  had  bought  at  Sotheby's  years  before,  and 
these  he  turned  and  re- turned  as  usefully  and  thrift 
ily  as  an  old  woman  a  good  silk.  He  used  to  quote 
with  much  gusto  the  northern  parson's  post- 
burglary  couplet  — 

"  They  came  and  prigged  my  silver,  my  linen  and    my 

store, 

But  they  couldn't  prig  my  sermons :  they  had  all  been 
prigged  before." 


282  MR.   INGLESIDE 

He  hadn't  a  spiritual  thought  in  his  head ;  but  he 
would  sit  up  all  night  to  assist  the  lying-in  of  a 
spaniel.  He  practised  few  virtues  of  abstention ; 
but  his  burial  services  were  Shakespearean  in  their 
humanity.  He  was  not  clever  ;  but  he  was  clever 
enough  to  be  suspicious  of  cleverness.  He  lived 
out  of  the  world,  but  watched  it  and  knew  how  it 
wagged. 

Sybil's  frankness  gave  him  immense  pleasure,  and 
they  had  many  a  bout  of  discussion.  Like  so  many 
modern  clergymen,  he  allowed  her  extraordinary 
latitude  in  her  references  to  his  calling ;  but  he 
retained  her  respect. 

"Personally,"  he  said  one  evening  after  she  had 
been  praising  tolerance,  "I'm  getting  rather  bored 
by  breadth  of  mind.  Breadth  of  mind  nowadays 
seems  to  mean  nothing  but  looking  for  the  humaner 
virtues  among  drunkards  and  atheists  and  ignoring 
them  among  parsons.  It  is  time  for  some  one  to 
point  out  how  much  more  difficult  it  is  for  a  parson 
to  be  good  than,  for  example,  for  a  pugilist.  A  par 
son  is  always  in  the  limelight :  he  has  to  wear  a  ridic 
ulous  collar  that  buttons  at  the  back,  which  alone 
stamps  him  as  pious  ;  his  clothes  are  black  and  for 
biddingly  cut  —  he  has  to  go  to  Switzerland  in 
August  in  order  to  wear  anything  comfortable  ;  he  is 
thrown  continually  among  old  and  narrow-minded 
virgins  whom  he  dare  not  offend  since  they  possess 
the  money  which  his  church  needs,  and  bit  by  bit, 
unless  he  is  very  careful  or  very  careless,  they  sap 
away  what  his  daily  avocations  have  left  of  his  mind. 
And  so  it  comes  to  this,  that  when  a  parson  is  good, 


MR.   INGLESIDE  283 

it  is  nothing  :  that's  what  he's  there  for  ;  but  when 
a  pugilist  is  good,  you  wipe  your  eyes.  'How  beau 
tiful  !  Such  a  sweet  nature  ! '  You  ought  logically 
to  be  just  as  much  interested  in  a  parson  who  had 
enough  character  to  be  wicked." 

Sybil  and  the  rector  had  also  some  passages  over 
the  vote,  as  indeed  was  inevitable. 

"Well,"  he  said,  on  the  first  evening,  "I  suppose 
all  you  young  ladies  are  suffragettes." 

"  I  am,"  said  Sybil. 

The  rector  laughed.  "And  you  want  to  vote,  do 
you  ?  "  he  pursued,  warming  to  the  old  fray. 

"Of  course  I  do,  if  anyone  does,"  said  Sybil.  "I 
don't  if  no  one  does.  Wouldn't  you  want  a  vote  if 
you  hadn't  got  one  and  all  the  women  had  ?  " 

"I  suppose  I  should,"  the  rector  admitted. 

"Then  why  shouldn't  we  ?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  the  rector,  "that's  different. 
Legislature  and  politics  and  all  that  are  a  man's 
affair.  They're  natural  to  him.  But  it's  not  a 
woman's  line  of  country  at  all." 

"What  is  a  woman's  line  of  country?"  Sybil 
asked. 

"What  is  it?"  the  rector  replied,  "why,  mind 
ing  the  house,  of  course,  ordering  a  good  dinner, 
cooking  it,  keeping  the  accounts,  looking  after  the 
children." 

"Yes,"  said  Sybil,  "but  suppose  there  aren't  any 
children?  Suppose  it's  a  single  woman,  with  no 
one's  home  to  mind  and  a  living  to  get  just  like  a 
man,  isn't  she  to  have  any  say  in  her  country's 
affairs?" 


284  MR.  INGLESIDE 

"Well,  perhaps  she  might,"  said  the  rector ;  abut 
not  the  others.  I'd  keep  it  strictly  to  those  who 
understood  what  politics  meant.  There  should  be 
some  kind  of  examination." 

"But  does  every  man  that  has  the  vote  under 
stand?"  Sybil  inquired  sweetly. 

The  rector  took  refuge  in  facetiousness,  the  last 
infirmity  of  cowardly  minds.  "What  I  always  say," 
he  said,  "  is  that  I  will  believe  in  women's  suffrage 
when  all  women  wear  the  same-shaped  hat." 

" That's  a  comic-paper  joke,"  said  Sybil.  "I  con 
sider  you  beaten." 

"And  these  other  ladies,"  said  the  rector,  "I 
wonder  what  they  think.  You,  Miss  Ingleside?" 
he  inquired,  turning  to  Alison. 

"I  should  like  to  have  a  home,"  said  Alison. 

The  rector  beamed  approval. 

"Or,"  she  added,  "to  be  of  some  value  in  other 
people's  homes." 

"Ah  !"  exclaimed  the  rector  triumphantly. 

"But  please  don't  think  that  that  makes  me  any 
more  right  than  Sybil,"  said  Alison.  "It's  only 
what  my  own  wish  is." 

"It  is  the  normal  women,"  said  the  rector,  "who 
carry  on  the  business  of  life.  The  hand  that  rocks 
the  cradle  —  ah  !  And  you,  Miss  Ann  ?" 

"I  don't  care  a  bit  about  politics,"  said  Ann,  "and 
I  don't  particularly  about  home.  I  like  to  be  mixed 
up  with  the  affairs  of  life  :  but  not  in  the  least  bad- 
temperedly.  I  like  men,  and  I  like  them  to  do  the 
business  part  of  the  country ;  but  I  think  it's  very 
sporting  of  Sybil  to  want  to  do  it  too." 


MR.   INGLESIDE  285 

The  rector  laughed.  "  You're  too  modern  for  me," 
he  said.  "Come  and  see  the  puppies." 

It  was  a  sure  road  to  a  truce,  for  Sybil  had  a  whirl 
wind  way  with  puppies  and  kittens  :  she  would  hold 
them  to  her  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy  of  companionship, 
as  different  from  the  sickly  caresses  of  Miss  Anstru- 
ther  as  anything  could  be.  By  a  stroke  of  luck 
there  were  at  Wilmingham  Clumber  puppies  a  month 
old,  and  it  is  really  a  wonder  that  Sybil  ever  arrived 
at  the  pageant  at  all  with  such  precious  armfuls  to 
cherish  at  the  Rectory. 

"I  wish  you'd  adopt  me,"  she  said  one  day  to  the 
rector.  "Let  me  be  your  curate.  Why  shouldn't 
women  be  curates  anyway?  Curates  have  been 
called  women  too  long." 

"Not  a  bad  idea  !"  said  Mr.  Catt-Wilkins.  "A 
few  curates  like  Miss  Ingleside  and  you,  and  the  men 
might  be  lured  back  to  church  again." 

"Then  we  are  united  in  our  battle-cry,"  remarked 
Sybil.  "  '  Curacies  for  women  ! ' " 

Mrs.  Catt-Wilkins  was  very  unlike  her  husband. 
He  was  an  outdoor  man  and  she  an  indoor  woman, 
and  neither  would  have  chosen  each  other  were  they 
now,  at  their  present  ages,  to  meet  for  the  first  time. 
Their  romance  and  their  need  for  each  other  were 
alike  over.  Not  that  they  pined  or  wasted  away : 
the  blessed  gift  of  acquiescence,  which  the  kind  gods 
gave  to  man,  saved  them,  as  it  saves  millions.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Catt-Wilkins  moaned  not  at  all,  for  he  was 
far  too  busy  in  the  countryside  with  his  horses  and 
dogs,  neighbours  and  parishioners,  while  to  her  the 
uncongeniality  of  her  husband  was  the  cause  of  a 


286  MR.   INGLESIDE 

pleasant  wistfulness  which  kept  her  far  happier  than 
any  lover  could  have  done.  Wistfulness  was  indeed 
her  staple  food.  She  spent  her  whole  life  in  a  gentle 
envy,  a  whispered  wish  to  be  somewhere  else  in  more 
delightful  surroundings  ;  but  although  she  was  rich 
and  her  husband  would  have  set  few  or  no  obstacles 
in  the  way,  she  never  went.  Her  meat  and  her 
poison  were  one. 

Mrs.  Catt-Wilkins  was  a  great  reader  and  in  a 
small  way  a  patron  of  letters. 

"I  suppose  you  know  all  the  interesting  people  in 
London,  Miss  Ingleside,"-she  said  one  morning,  as 
she  and  Alison  sat  in  her  boudoir  and  watched  the 
clouds  gathering  for  the  pageant.  Alison  and  Mrs. 
Catt-Wilkins  were  much  together,  for  Ann  and 
Sybil  went  off  with  the  rector  ;  and  though  she  would 
much  rather  have  accompanied  them,  Alison  did  not 
like  to  leave  her  hostess  alone. 

"How  I  should  love  to  live  in  London,"  said  Mrs. 
Catt-Wilkins.  "Bungay  is  so  dull,  so  restricted. 
And  then  the  parish  !  A  parson's  wife,  you  know  ! " 

Alison  murmured  sympathetic  agreement,  although 
she  had  seen  nothing  of  her  hostess's  parochial 
activities. 

"Do  tell  me,"  the  lady  continued  —  "you  who 
come  right  from  the  very  centre  —  who  know  every 
one  —  what  is  Mr.  Hichens  like  ?  " 

"Mr.  Hichens?" 

"Yes,  The  Garden  of  Allah,  you  know.  Ah!" 
Mrs.  Catt-Wilkins  rolled  her  eyes  in  rapture.  "What 
a  book !  You've  no  idea  what  it  must  mean  to  a 
resident  near  Bungay,  and  a  country  clergyman's 


MR.   INGLESIDE  287 

wife  to  boot,  when  the  hot  breath  of  the  desert  rolls 
in  like  that." 

Alison  said  that  she  had  not  read  it. 

"'To  preside  over  a  London  salon/  was  what  I 
once  wrote  many  years  ago,  in  a  confession  album  ; 
and  I  still  have  the  same  wish.  One  alters  so  little 
au  fond.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

Alison  said  it  was. 

"Madame  Recamier!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Catt- 
Wilkins,  throwing  up  her  eyes.  "It  surprises  me 
that  the  salon  is  extinct.  And  talk,  I  am  told,  is 
extinct  too  :  real  talk  —  to  causer,  you  understand 
—  is  no  more.  Yet  I  believe,"  she  continued,  with 
a  glance  at  herself  in  the  mirror,  "that  by  the  right 
person  it  might  be  revivified  and  nourished  back  into 
prosperity.  But  of  course  the  right  person." 

Alison  was  tired  and  took  no  hint. 

"We  have  no  genius  at  Bungay,"  said  Mrs.  Catt- 
Wilkins.  "A  literary  society,  called  the  Circle,  meets 
in  the  winter,  once  a  month  ;  and  Mr.  Rider  Haggard 
is  quite  near.  But  Mr.  Rider  Haggard  never  took 
me  off  my  feet  as  Mr.  Hichens  does.  I  am  a  great 
reader.  I  don't  know  how  I  should  endure  but  for 
books ;  and  I  am  so  peculiar,  you  know,  I  have  so 
much  imaginative  sympathy,  that  when  I  am  read 
ing  a  book  that  is  entirely  congenial  to  me  I  feel  I 
am  actually  in  the  room  with  the  author  :  that  we 
are  together,  conversing,  exchanging  ideas.  My 
husband  is  very  good,  of  course,  but  he  no  longer  cares 
to  exchange  ideas.  And  as  there  is  no  one  else  here 
with  whom  any  real  intercourse  is  possible  —  he 
does  not  even  keep  a  curate  —  I  am  driven  back  on 


288  MR.   INGLESIDE 

my  books.  The  Times  library  is  such  a  boon  to  us 
—  it  came  as  a  positive  godsend,  for  we  have  no 
children,  you  know,  and  now  I  have  all  the  new  books, 
which  I  aways  wanted,  and  my  husband  has  the 
Times,  which  he  always  wanted.  I  assure  you  I 
positively  could  not  eat  while  that  terrible  struggle 
was  going  on,  for  fear  of  losing  this  great  privilege. 
All  this  will  show  you,  Miss  Ingleside,  what  it  must 
mean  to  me  to  have  this  pageant  here  and  to  meet 
so  many  new  people.  I  love  new  people,  and  I  see 
so  few.  I  wish  the  pageant  could  be  held  annually. 
Do  speak  to  Mr.  Leslie,  Miss  Ingleside  —  use  your 
great  influence  —  to  have  it  made  an  annual 
event.  I  am  sure  it  might  well  be.  There  is  a 
cattle-show  here  every  year,  you  know." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

IN  WHICH  MASQUERADERS  PROVE  THEM 
SELVES  VERY  HUMAN 

THE  pageant  ground  was  a  field  just  outside  the 
town  in  which  wooden  stands  had  been  built 
on  one  side  of  an  arena.  The  green-room  was  a 
large  tent,  and  here  the  ages  mingled,  monarchs  and 
monks,  earls  and  carles  smoking  cigarettes  and 
making  twentieth-century  gossip.  The  Abbess  of 
the  old  Benedictine  nunnery  and  Queen  Elizabeth 
discussed  Mr.  Bernard  Shaw's  last  play,  which  had 
just  reached  Bungay  in  book  form,  and  which  the 
abbess  on  her  last  visit  to  London  had  seen  and 
admired ;  King  Stephen  and  Henry  III  were  deep 
in  an  argument  on  the  rival  merits  of  Fielder  and 
Mr.  Brearley  on  a  hard  wicket.  The  total  effect  was 
one  of  chronology  run  mad. 

Each  maid  of  honour  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  suite 
had  a  gentleman  companion  with  whom  to  make 
some  show  of  animated  conversation  during  the 
tableau.  Alison  was  fortunate,  for  her  ally  was  an 
amusing  young  artist  who  had  recently  married  and 
whose  wife  was  a  leading  figure  in  an  earlier  tableau. 
They  had  taken  a  house  in  Norfolk,  he  said,  to  be 
out  of  the  way,  among  total  strangers  ;  but  that  was 
a  state  of  things  intolerable  to  the  countryside,  and 
u  289 


29o  MR.   INGLESIDE 

cards  were  falling  upon  them  like  autumn  leaves. 
"The  neighbourhood,"  he  said,  "might  be  robins, 
and  ourselves  the  babes  in  the  wood." 

Alison  said  that  she  supposed  it  was  always  like 
that.  "You  needn't  return  the  calls,"  she  added. 

"That's  what  I  say,"  said  the  courtier,  "but  my 
wife  won't  have  it.  '  How  can  one  behave  like  that ! ' 
she  asks.  Well,  there's  nothing  much  easier,  to 
my  mind,  than  not  calling  on  people ;  but  she 
says  not.  'All  very  well  for  you  in  your  studio  to 
talk  like  that ;  but  what  kind  of  life  is  there  for  me 
if  I  don't  know  a  soul  and  everyone  thinks  I'm  stuck 
up,  just  because  I'm  not  sociable?" 

Alison  agreed  that  this  was  sound. 

"  So  what  do  you  think  I'm  going  to  do  ?  "  said  the 
artist.  "I'm  going  to  put  this  advertisement  in  the 
Morning  Post:  — 

"  'Wanted  by  gentleman  and  lady  who  are  settling 
in  a  new  part  of  the  country,  and  wish  to  .be  quiet 
and  private,  a  presentable  couple  to  occupy  an  ad 
jacent  cottage  and  personify  them  when  the  neigh 
bourhood  calls.' '' 

He  was  always  entertaining,  and  Alison  enjoyed 
her  Tudor  strolls  with  him  as  much  as  Sybil  was 
bored  by  her  partner.  Mr.  Monkswell,  who  made 
conversation  with  her,  was  a  young  Norfolk  solicitor 
with  a  passion  for  the  stage.  He  belonged  to  the 
Doom  School  of  Drama,  and  liked  to  be  harrowed 
and,  as  he  said,  "sent  away  thoughtful." 

"A  wonderful  engine,"  he  called  the  theatre. 
"Books  are  all  very  well  in  their  way,  of  course," 
he  said,  "but  you  can  lay  them  aside  so  easily. 


MR.   INGLESIDE  291 

Sermons  make  an  appeal  only  when  the  preacher 
has  magnetism  :  besides,  the  conditions  are  wrong. 
But  the  stage  !  Ah,  there  you  have  everything  to 
compel  attention.  The  eye  and  the  ear  are  both 
engaged.  The  electricity  of  personality  thrills  you. 
There  is  no  power  like  the  power  of  the  drama  for 
good  or  ill.  A  wonderful  engine  —  that  is  what  I 
always  call  the  stage." 

"Do  you  go  to  the  Gaiety  ? "  Sybil  asked  sweetly. 

Mr.  Monkswell  was  surprised  and  pained.  "I 
mean  the  serious  stage,"  he  said.  "To  my  mind  a 
play  without  a  problem  is  merely  an  entertainment, 
a  beguilement.  And  of  such  things  I  am  in  no  need. 
I  should  not  have  taken  any  interest  in  the  pageant 
had  it  not  been  for  the  wish,  which  I  have  always 
had,  to  see  the  Bungay  people  really  thinking  in 
telligently  and  even  imaginatively  of  Bungay.  We 
are  taught  so  vividly  through  the  eye.  No  one  wit 
nessing  this  kaleidoscope  of  the  ages  (so  to  speak) 
can  ever  think  of  Bungay  again  purely  as  a  twentieth- 
century  town." 

"No,"  said  Sybil,  "and  it  will  be  some  time  before 
some  of  the  inhabitants  who  are  taking  part  in  the 
pageant  get  back  their  twentieth-century  character. 
Mr.  Gloss,  the  butcher,  for  example — how  funny  to 
ask  him  for  a  mutton  chop  after  seeing  him  capering 
as  Sir  Christopher  Hatton  !" 

"But  to  return  to  the  stage,"  said  Mr.  Monkswell. 
"Have  you  seen  that  amazing  play  at  the  Mausoleum 
—  Insanity?" 

"No,"  said  Sybil.      "I  never  go  to  such  things." 

"You  should,"  said  Mr.  Monkswell.     "Most  in- 


292  MR.   INGLESIDE 

structive.     As  Aristotle  says,  the  education  of  the 
senses  by  pity  and  fear.     I'll  tell  you  the  plot." 

"Please  don't,"  said  Sybil. 

"The  curtain  rises,"  said  Mr.  Monkswell,  "on  an 
empty  stage.  I  always  think  that's  very  dramatic. 
There's  a  kind  of  mystery,  almost  uncanniness,  about 
an  empty  stage.  It  is  a  private  asylum  —  most 
realistically  reproduced :  a  masterpiece.  After  a 
minute  or  two  a  knock  is  heard  on  the  door.  There 
is  naturally  no  one  to  open  it,  and  so  it  opens  itself, 
and  in  comes  an  old  man  with  a  long  white  beard. 
Thatis  nothing,  you  say.  No  ;  but  listen  :  he  comes 
in  on  his  hands  and  knees  !  Think  of  it.  It's  ter 
rible.  He  crawls  over  to  the  hearthrug,  where  there 
is  a  plate  of  milk,  and  laps  it  up.  He  is  mad.  Don't 
you  think  that  a  remarkable  start?" 

"It's  uncanny  enough,"  said  Sybil.  " But  I  don't 
admit  any  particular  need  for  me  to  see  it." 

"And  then,"  Mr.  Monkswell  continued,  "his 
young  and  beautiful  wife  comes  in,  and  when  she  sees 
him  she  screams.  You  see,  he  has  got  away  from  his 
keepers.  I  need  hardly  say  that  his  madness  is  very 
interesting  :  logical  outcome  of  a  morbidly  neurotic 
temperament.  In  his  youth  he  had  sown  not  only 
wild  oats  but  tares,  you  understand.  'The  gods 
are  just,  you  know,  and  of  our  pleasant  vices  — 
You  remember  the  passage  ?  He  has  a  young  wife, 
but  I  could  hardly  tell  you  the  rest." 

"Pray  don't  trouble,"  said  Sybil.  "All  those 
plays  are  just  alike." 

"But  the  madman  is  wonderfully  played,"  said 
Mr.  Monkswell.  ' '  A  most  impressive  performance. ' ' 


MR.  INGLESIDE  293 

"Anyone  can  play  a  madman,"  said  Sybil.  "It's 
the  ordinary  sane  people  that  are  so  difficult." 

And  so  it  went  on  every  afternoon. 

To  Ann  fell  a  vigorous  young  barbarian. 

"I  shouldn't  be  in  this  rotten  oldpag.,"  he  said, 
"if  it  weren't  for  my  governor  being  King  Stephen 
and  guaranteeing  it.  I'm  missing  some  jolly  good 
cricket.  It  is  the  sort  of  thing  a  fellow  ought  to  go 
to  heaven  for.  It  isn't  as  if  these  togs  fitted,  either. 
They're  the  tightest  things  I  ever  had  on.  Are 
yours  tight?" 

Ann  said  that  she  had  been  more  comfortable. 

"Comfortable  !  I  should  think  so  !"  he  replied. 
"It's  all  tommy  rot  to  say  that  Raleigh  laid  down 
his  coat  in  a  puddle  for  Queen  Elizabeth  to  walk  on. 
He  couldn't  have  done  it :  he  couldn't  have  knelt, 
not  in  Tudor  costume.  I  bet  you  if  I  were  to  kneel 
something  would  rip.  It's  all  my  sister's  fault ; 
she  made  the  rotten  things.  I  told  her  I  should  want 
a  shoehorn  to  get  into  them  ;  but  she  knew  best,  of 
course.  Last  night  it  took  both  the  groom  and  the 
gardener  to  pull  them  off  me,  and  to-day  I  had  to  be 
chalked  before  I  could  get  them  on." 

The  girls  were  very  popular  among  the  knights  and 
serfs,  kings  and  courtiers.  Introductions  go  by  the 
board  at  pageants  :  any  costume  may  talk  to  any 
costume  ;  although  to  belong  to  the  same  period  of 
course  confers  an  extra  familiarity.  A  few  of  the 
more  select  ladies  kept  on  their  dignity  even  under 
these  new  and  untoward  conditions :  indeed,  they 
had  to,  for  Bungay  is  not  large  enough  to  provide 
both  pageant  and  spectators  too  without  calling  in 


294  MR.   INGLESIDE 

the  assistance  of  trade.  Hence  a  few  rencontres  such 
as  no  really  nice  people  can  desire,  between  vicarage 
and  grocery,  consulting  room  and  dispensary,  non 
conformity  and  the  Manor.  But  (like  deck  ac 
quaintanceships)  it  was  tacitly  understood  that  no 
loss  of  principle  was  involved,  that  no  advantage 
was  to  be  taken  of  this  condescension  when  the 
return  was  made  to  skirts,  trousers,  and  the  normal 
status  ;  and  therefore  all  went  very  amicably. 

There  were  of  course  the  little  unavoidable  diffi 
culties,  but  they  were  as  essential  as  the  rain.  Every 
pageant  has  both.  Mr.  Somers-Gage,  for  example, 
the  local  antiquary  and  poet,  who  wrote  certain 
lyrics  for  Leslie's  book,  never  got  over  the  surgical 
operation  which  permanently  removed  four  of  his 
best  efforts  after  the  first  performance.  It  is  true 
that  it  was  at  the  first  performance  that  the  critics 
were  present :  but  none  the  less  Mr.  Somers-Gage 
was  hurt,  and  more  than  hurt,  surprised.  It  was 
not  so  much  the  elision  of  the  verses  that  cut  him, 
he  explained  to  every  one  in  turn  in  a  querulous 
monotone  :  the  pageant-master  doubtless  knew  best ; 
and  no  doubt  the  performance  was  too  long ;  what 
troubled  him  so  was  the  thought  of  the  impaired  idea 
that  strangers  now  obtained  of  Bungay's  place  in 
history,  since  the  very  spirit  of  Bungay  was  conveyed 
in  his  lost  lines.  He  also  felt  very  deeply  not  only  for 
the  singers  who  had  practised  the  songs  so  loyally, 
but  also  for  poor  Mrs.  Anguish,  who  had  set  them 
to  such  charming  music.  Not  that  the  air  might  not 
have  been  a  little  more  bright  and  tuneful :  for  his 
part,  it  was  a  shade  too  melancholy ;  and  yet  it  was 


MR.   INGLESIDE  295 

a  good  setting,  and  he  regretted  intensely  that  it 
should  have  had  to  go.  No  doubt,  however,  Chap- 
pell  would  take  it  up  later,  in  a  historical  sequence, 
and  possibly  Miss  Liza  Lehmann  —  or  Mr.  Plunket 
Greene,  for  choice,  since  the  subject  was  largely 
martial  and  needed  a  male  voice  —  would  sing  it. 

Mrs.  Anguish,  who  took  the  part  of  Astraea  (who, 
as  every  one  knows,  stands  in  metal  in  the  market 
place  and  was  introduced  into  the  pageant  very 
happily  as  a  kind  of  tutelary  spirit),  also  had  some 
thing  to  say  on  the  matter  ;  but  her  complaint  was 
pitched  in  a  key  of  perfect  resignation,  as  of  one  who 
had  long  since  given  up  hope  of  ever  getting  any  kind 
of  justice  in  this  world.  For  Mrs.  Anguish,  it  seems, 
had  all  her  life  been  the  victim  of  musicians'  jeal 
ousies,  and  nothing  but  their  machinations  and  the 
refusal  of  London  to  believe  that  any  good  thing 
could  come  from  a  Bungay  composer  had  prevented 
the  performance  not  only  of  her  Saxon  opera  entitled 
Olla  andPodrida  at  Covent  Garden,  but  at  the  Queen 's 
Hall  her  tone  poem  on  the  subject  of  the  transmi 
gration  of  souls. 

All  three  girls  heard  the  story  of  Mrs.  Anguish's 
life  in  precisely  similar  words,  which  they  were  able 
afterwards  to  compare  and  verify,  a  task  of  infinitely 
greater  entertainment  than  the  narrative  itself. 


CHAPTER  XL 

IN  WHICH  AID  IS  FORTHCOMING  FOR  A 
HOUSE  LACKING  A  MOTTO 

ARLTYE  GRANGE  is  finished  now,"  said 
Leslie  one  evening.  "It  wants  only  one 
thing  —  a  motto.  I'm  sure  the  millionnaire  would 
like  a  motto." 

"In  Latin?"  Dr.  Staminer  asked. 

"Oh  no,  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Leslie.  "That 
would  be  affectation.  English.  The  question  is, 
shall  it  be  original  or  an  old  one  ? 

"  If  I  were  a  poet,  I  have  been  thinking,  I  would  try 
to  write  mottoes  for  houses  ;  for  it's  a  kind  of  verse 
that  enforces  brevity  and  conciseness,  and  it  enforces 
also  a  sort  of  optimism,  or,  at  any  rate,  kindliness  ; 
for  who  would  inscribe  over  his  doorway  a  churlish 
or  hopeless  couplet  ?  One  may  be  only  too  conscious 
of  disillusion  and  the  necessary  end  of  all  things,  and 
yet  be  no  Timon.  But  there's  no  particular  need  to 
compose  a  motto,  because  I've  a  book  here  which 
contains  dozens  of  them.  It  is  called  The  House,  the 
Garden,  and  the  Steeple.  I  wish  it  had  been  belfry 
because  that's  so  much  prettier  a  word,  but  no  matter. 
Let  me  read  you  some.  I  like  this,  but  it  might  not 
suit  the  millionnaire  — 

296 


MR.   INGLESIDE  297 

'If  this  house  be  fine  or  not, 
That  was  ne'er  my  serious  thought ; 
But  it  will  have  gained  its  ends 
Shall  I  fill  it  full  of  friends.' 

American  millionnaires  don't  seem  to  have  so  many 
friends  as  all  that." 

"Besides,"  said  Richard  Oast,  "it's  not  true.  He 
wanted  it  to  be  fine.  It  was  his  serious  thought." 

"As  serious,"  said  Dr.  Staminer,  "as  a  thought 
can  be  when  it  is  backed  up  by  no  personal  interest 
—  nothing  but  cheques." 

"This,  then/'  said  Leslie  — 

"'Stranger,  should  this  catch  your  eye, 
Do  a  favor  passing  by : 
Bless  this  house  e'er  you  be  gone, 
And  it  shall  bless  you  passing  on.' " 

"Not  bad,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "In  fact,  good." 
"Some  are  a  little  too  self-conscious,"  said  Leslie, 
"and  some  a  little  superior.  The  householder  — 
the  castellan  —  creeps  in  to  insist  too  much  on 
ownership,  and  sometimes  there  is  a  hint  of  com 
mand  too,  as  in  this  — 

'If  a  welcome  thou  wouldst  win, 
.Wipe  your  feet  and  then  come  in.' 

That  is  meant  to  be  kind,  but  it  is  not  impulsively 
warm  enough  quite  to  effect  its  purpose,  for  one 
might  very  easily  pause  outside  and  wonder  if  the 
risks  of  offending  such  a  carefully  clean  host  were 
worth  taking.  A  prettier  sentiment  would  be  this 
(my  own)  — 


298  MR.   INGLESIDE 

To  all  a  welcome  I  extend : 

A  friend,  though  muddy,  's  still  a  friend. 

Or  this  — 

With  dirty  boots  or  clean,  come  hi ; 
Your  bottle's  waiting  in  the  binn." 

"That  sentiment,"  said  Dr.  Staminer,  "was 
excellently  put  in  the  Methodist  hymn  which  so 
took  Lamb's  fancy  — 

'  Come  needy,  come  guilty,  come  loathesome  and  bare ; 
You  can't  come  too  filthy  —  come  just  as  you  are.' 

The  home  there  is  the  heavenly  home,  of  course ; 
but  the  sentiment  would  suit  a  Tudor  grange  none 
the  less." 

Leslie  continued  his  reading.  "This  is  prettily 
put,"  he  said  - 

"'We  should  a  guest  love,  while  he  loves  to  stay, 
But  when  he  likes  not,  give  him  loving  way.' 

And  this  too  — 

'Thro'  this  wide  opening  gate 
None  come  too  early,  none  return  too  late/ 

But  that  surely  is  a  sentiment  which  would  come 
more  fittingly  from  a  grateful  rhyming  guest  than 
a  host,  in  whose  mouth  it  has  just  a  hint  of  com 
placency.  It's  the  sort  of  thing  for  a  visitors'  book. 
And  that  reminds  me  there  is  no  visitors'  book  at 
Marltye.  I  must  order  one,  to  be  bound  in  vellum, 
I  think,  with  illegible  lettering.  He'll  like  that." 


MR.  INGLESIDE  299 

1 '  What  about  the  motto  of  the  Abbey  of  Theleme  ?" 
Dr.  Staminer  asked. 

"Well,  here  it  is,"  said  Leslie,  "on  the  next  page — 

'In  this  my  house  I  live  att  ease, 
And  here  I  doe  whate'er  I  please.' 

But  did  he,  I  wonder,  that  old  builder?  Did  he 
do  what  he  pleased  ?" 

"Probably  not,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "It  is  not 
timber,  brick,  or  stone  (as  Cowper  would  say)  that 
grants  such  liberties." 

"Another  old  builder,"  Leslie  continued,  "writes — 

'Wouldst  thou  put  happiness  to  proof, 
Then  always  live  'neath  thine  own  roof/ 

But  that,  if  genuinely  obeyed,  would  strike  the  death 
blow  to  hospitality,  because  no  one  could  ever  visit 
at  all.  There  you  have,  I  should  imagine,  a  gen 
uinely  ancient  couplet ;  but  in  the  following  I  detect 
a  modern  note  — 

'  Give  this  house,  oh  traveller,  pray, 
A  blessing  as  you  pass  this  way. 
And  if  you've  time,  I  beg  your  pardon, 
While  you're  at  it  bless  this  garden.'" 

"I  don't  care  for  that  at  all,"  said  Dr.  Stammer. 
"Too  colloquial  and  jaunty." 

"I've  been  composing  one  or  two,"  said  Christie, 
"while  you've  been  reading.  "How  do  you  like 
this  ?  — 

This  edifice  of  wood  and  stone, 
Since  mine  the  cost,  is  called  my  own ; 
But  you  who  shelter  here,  no  less 
My  house  and  all  it  holds  possess." 


300  MR.   INGLESIDE 

"'Good,"  said  Dr.  Staminer,  "I  like  that." 

"I  like  it  too,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "but  I  don't 
think  you  had  better  have  it  cut  in  stone,  Leslie." 

" Why  not?" 

"Because  America  is  simply  alive  with  poets," 
said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "and  if  an  original  motto  is  to 
be  used,  Mr.  Thayer  will  want  to  give  the  job  to  a 
compatriot.  My  American  friend  Mr.  Waler  knows 
personally  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  poets,  one 
for  every  day  in  the  year  ;  and  these  little  four-lined 
things  are  just  shucks  to  them  ;  they  write  them  all 
the  time.  So  you  had  better  either  stick  to  Latin 
or  something  very  well  known,  or  wait  for  the 
arrival  of  the  owner." 

"Never  mind,  Christie,  give  us  some  more,"  said 
Leslie. 

"I've  only  done  one  other,"  said  Christie,  "yet  — 

The  fire's  alight ;  at  eight  we  dine  : 

Come  in,  good  friend,  and  choose  your  wine. 

I  wrote  that  as  a  counterblast  to  the  lady  who  was 
so  keen  about  us  wiping  our  boots." 

"I  tried  too,"  said  Dr.  Staminer.  "I  wrote  this  — 

Madam,  this  trifling  mud  forget ; 

But  —  have  you  warmed  the  claret  yet?" 

"That  goes  home,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "A 
rebuke  in  the  right  spirit." 

"I'm  glad  I  bought  this  book,"  said  Leslie,  "since 
it  makes  you  all  so  clever.  Now  for  the  garden 
mottoes.  They  belong  to  sundials,  of  course,  and 


MR.   INGLESIDE  301 

they  are  nearly  always  sad.  Now  and  then,  however, 
a  note  of  hope  breaks  in.  Here  is  one  — 

"Tis  always  morning  somewhere  in  the  world/ 

That  is  gayer,  but  on  one  side  of  it  is  this  — 

1  Time  wastes  our  bodies  and  our  wits, 
But  we  waste  time,  and  so  we're  quits/ 

and  on  the  other  this,  which  epitomizes  all  sundial 
lore  — 

'When  comes  the  sun  the  vanish'd  shade  appears, 
But  ne'er  to  us  return  our  vanish'd  years.' 

Too  true.  So  true  that  it  is  hardly  worth  repeating. 
I  prefer  — 

"Tis  always  morning  somewhere  in  the  world."* 

"Or,"  said  Dr.  Staminer,  "Sancho  Panza's  mellow 
encouragement  — 

'There  is  still  sun  on  the  wall/" 

" Here's  another  gloomy  one,"  said  Leslie.     "Too 
dreary  for  me  - 

'We  are  travelling  each  towards  the  sunset.' 

Why  should  it  be  the  sundial's  special  mission  to 
give  pain  ?  But  that's  nothing  compared  with  this 
sentence  of  six  words  which  positively  makes  one 
creep  — 

'It  is  later  than  you  think.' 


302  MR.   INGLESIDE 

Genial  devil  to  put  that  in  the  middle  of  a  nice  gar 
den  so  that  you  might  come  on  it  suddenly  on  a 
summer's  day ! 

'  It  is  later  than  you  think/ 

Christie,  can't  you  give  us  an  antidote  ?  " 
"How  do  you  like  this  ?"  Christie  asked  — 

"  I'm  useful  only  in  the  sun : 

A  cloud,  and  all  my  work  is  done. 
Or  — 

I  chatter  only  in  the  light. 
You've  more  philosophy  at  night. 

Those  seem  to  me,  by  delimiting  its  powers,  to 
depreciate  it  as  a  monitor." 

"I  have  done  one  too,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside  — 

"Thou  com'st  to  me  to  learn  the  hours  ? 
Ah,  foolish  one, 
Leave  time  alone, 
And  happy  be  among  the  flowers." 

" I  like  that,"  said  Leslie.  " I  shall  adopt  that  for 
the  sundial,  whatever  happens." 

"And  the  belfry?"  asked  Dr.  Staminer. 

"The  belfry  section  is  dull,"  said  Leslie;  "but 
here  is  a  pleasant  couplet  for  Alison's  wedding. 
'When'  —  these  words  are  engraved  on  the  bells, 
you  know  — 

'When  female  virtue  weds  with  manly  worth, 
We  catch  the  rapture  and  we  spread  it  forth.' 

Pope,  I  think." 

"More  like  Crabbe,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "I 
seem  to  detect  worsted  stockings  in  it." 


CHAPTER  XLI 

IN  WHICH  A  LOST  VOICE  IS  HEARD,  AND 
WE  MEET  WITH  MR.  AND  THE  MISSES 
THAMES 

IT  was  only  a  month  or  so  before  Alison's  wedding, 
and  her  father  was  beginning  to  see  the  day 
ahead  of  him  like  a  menace,  and  was  correspondingly 
depressed.  And  then  one  morning  the  postman 
brought  a  letter  from  Askill  —  that  rarest  of  events 
—  which  seemed  in  no  way  to  lighten  his  gloom. 

"A  sprained  ankle,"  it  began,  "gives  me  a  chance  to 
write  :  but  don't  expect  much. 

"The  postmark  will  give  me  away ;  but  it  is  likely  that 
you  have  already  heard  of  my  present  abode.  There  are 
no  secrets  on  a  planet  only  25,000  miles  in  circumference. 

"Let  me  say  at  once  that  Oregon  is  as  wonderful  a  country 
as  I  always  dreamed  it.  Almost.  Of  course  nothing  quite 
comes  up  to  our  hopes,  just  as  nothing  quite  fulfils  our  fears ; 
but  Oregon  is  all  right.  The  word  had  a  fascination  for  me 
even  when  quite  a  child  —  I  must  have  told  you  —  and  I 
never  shook  it  off.  Oregon :  don't  you  feel  it  ?  You  can 
breathe  here. 

"You  will  be  amused  to  hear  that  I  built  my  hut  myself. 
With  these  hands  I  cut  down  the  trees  and  trimmed  them. 
Not  bad  for  one  who  might,  if  he  had  stuck  to  it,  be  now  a 
K.C.  —  that  is,  if  you  still  have  a  king  in  need  of  counsel. 

"I  get  very  little  news,  and  when  I  hear  it  I  find  I  did 
not  want  it.  But  I  should  like  to  see  you  again. 

"How  different  we  can  be,  we  rats  in  the  rat-trap!  A 
man  was  here  a  few  months  back  with  a  bundle  of  old  papers. 

303 


3o4  MR.   INGLESIDE 

He  read  and  re-read  them  day  and  night.  In  the  midst  of  this 
country  and  this  air  he  read  and  re-read  old  papers.  Weekly 
things  for  the  most  part,  but  a  few  dailies  too.  He  said 
they  made  him  feel  like  a  citizen  again,  reminded  him  of 
home.  Advertisements  for  servants  —  he  read  them  too. 
The  very  words  'housemaid,'  'parlour  maid/  'butler/ 
gave  him  a  thrill.  They  recalled  ham  and  eggs,  and  hot  water 
for  shaving,  and  old  brandy,  and  everything  he  has  not  had 
for  years  and  apparently  wants.  And  all  the  while  the  snow 
was  on  the  mountain-tops  and  the  air  had  pines  in  it,  and 
while  he  was  reading  aloud  a  paragraph  —  I  couldn't  stop 
him,  hadn't  the  heart  to  —  about  the  Bishop  of  London's 
success  at  golf  somewhere,  an  eagle  was  hovering  overhead. 
He  never  saw  it. 

"The  fellow  had  his  uses,  though,  in  spite  of  his  eternal 
chatter  about  the  living  tomb  he  called  home.  In  one  of 
his  papers  I  caught  sight  of  the  announcement  of  the  comple 
tion  of  your  Horace.  If  that  means  that  you  are  done  with 
obligations  for  awhile,  take  a  long  holiday  and  come  over  here. 
It  is  rough,  but  you  shall  not  suffer.  Things  can  be  arranged 
for  a  London  gentleman  even  in  a  log  hut  3000  feet  above 
the  sea-level.  You  will  lose  your  Thames,  but  the  sound  of  a 
rushing  torrent  shall  never  be  absent.  You  will  lose  your 
towns  and  chimneys,  but  we  have  a  range  of  snow  mountains. 
You  will  lose  your  books,  but  your  eyes  shall  not  go  idle  and 
your  grey  matter  will  gain.  Also  you  will  meet  a  philosopher 
at  once  nearer  the  good  earth  and  nearer  the  stars  than  your 
cautious  and  calculating  (though  long-lived)  Q.  H.  F.  ever 
was  :  four-footed  (of  course)  and  grizzly-haired  —  by  name, 
Sage ;  by  genus,  dog.  Also  you  shall  breathe,  which  no 
Londoner  ever  did  yet.  And  most  of  all,  you  shall  —  almost 
—  forget  the  rat-trap." 

So  Askill  wrote,  from  his  eyrie,  and  Mr.  Ingleside 
was  conscious  of  a  touch  of  nostalgia  for  this  distant 
recluse  and  his  fastidious  aloofness.  Coming  as  it 
did  upon  the  imminent  loss  of  his  latest  friend  —  the 
closest  since  Askill  went  away —  the  letter  depressed 


ME.   INGLESIDE  305 

him  visibly,  and  Alison  was  in  her  turn  depressed  too. 
Indeed,  she  had  thought  not  a  little  lately  of  the 
selfishness  —  inevitable,  of  course,  and  natural 
(like  all  selfishness),  but  selfishness  none  the  less  — 
of  this  marriage  of  hers,  taking  her,  as  it  was,  at  so 
early  an  age,  right  away  from  her  father  ;  and  just, 
too,  when  he  was,  as  she  could  plainly  see,  beginning 
to  appreciate  her  presence.  The  portion  of  beer  and 
skittles  that  is  set  aside  for  the  self-conscious  in  this 
life  is  by  no  means  Benjaminic. 

"Do  let's  have  a  little  excursion  all  our  own,"  she 
said,  crossing  to  Mr.  Ingleside  and  taking  his  arm. 
"  Not  even  Henry  Thrace.  Just  you  and  Ann  and 
I." 

"The  last  we  shall  ever  have,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside, 
who  never  funked  the  truth  :  in  fact,  rather  liked  it 
in  its  grimmer  aspect. 

"I  don't  see  why  not,"  said  Alison.  "You  talk  as 
if  marriage  were  death." 

"No,"  he  said,  "not  death;  but  nothing  is  ever 
the  same  again.  You  will  come  and  see  me,  and  I 
perhaps  shall  go  and  see  you,  but  it  won't  be  you  — 
it  won't  be  my  Alison,  but  Bryan's  —  and  it  won't  be 
me,  it  will  be  Bryan's  father-in-law.  These  are  iron 
facts  :  nothing  can  alter  them." 

"Oh,  I  dare  say,"  said  Alison.  "But  there  are 
plenty  of  iron  facts  that,  even  if  they  cannot  be 
altered,  can  be  ignored,  at  any  rate  until  the  time 
is  ripe.  Don't  anticipate  them.  Let's  be  a  little 
happy  again  and  forget  that  I  am  going  to  ruin 
everything.  Let's  go  and  discover  some  really  nice 
old  town,  where  we  are  perfect  strangers,  and  not  say 


3o6  MR.   INGLESIDE 

a  word  about  our  real  life  at  all.  We'll  be  brother 
and  sisters  if  you  like." 

"What  a  joke  !"  said  Ann. 

"  All  right,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  "and  we'll  change 
our  name  to  make  it  more  real.  We'll  go  as  Mr.  and 
the  Misses"  —  he  looked  out  of  the  window  — 
"  Mr.  and  the  Misses  Thames." 

"But  where  shall  we  go  ?"  Ann  asked. 

"Why  not  try  that  place  that  Ramer  is  always  rav 
ing  about  ?  "  said  Mr.  Ingleside.  "  Alfriston.  Some 
where  in  Sussex,  between  Eastbourne  and  Lewes. 
Go  round,  Tansy,  and  ask  him  all  about  it,  but 
don't  say  why,  or  he'll  come  too." 

And  it  was  Alfriston  to  which  the  Thames  family 
made  their  way  ;  changing  at  Berwick,  on  the  follow 
ing  Saturday  afternoon,  into  a  decrepit  vehicle  known 
as  a  fly,  and  moving  with  every  shuffle  of  the  old 
brown  horse  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  green  hills  of 
Sussex  and  the  ancient  Star  Inn  which  was  to  be 
their  home  ;  and  every  moment  their  spirits  rose,  as 
the  air  of  the  river  valley  became  sweeter  and  fresher, 
and  the  soft  contours  of  the  Downs  soothed  and  the 
great  height  of  the  Downs  excited. 

There  is  only  one  Alfriston,  and  not  unwisely  is  it 
called  the  Darling  of  the  Downs,  which  surround 
and  cherish  it :  a  small  village  with  one  beautiful 
ancient  street,  and  a  ruined  market  cross  at  the  end 
of  it  under  a  chestnut  tree,  and  all  the  old  tumbled 
facades  covered  with  a  yellow  wash  which  takes  the 
light  of  morning  and  takes  the  light  of  noon  and  takes 
the  light  of  evening  with  equal  serenity  and  charm. 
In  this  street  is  the  Star,  one  of  the  oldest  inns  in 


MR.   INGLESIDE  307 

England.  The  church  — the  Cathedral  of  the 
Downs,  it  has  been  called  —  is  below,  nearer  the 
river,  massed  up  on  a  mound,  with  a  venerable 
clergy  house  of  the  middle  ages  close  by  it,  and  then 
nothing  but  the  river  and  the  valley  and  the  hills. 

Alfriston's  industry  is  training,  and  in  its  bars 
hung  with  coloured  prints  of  famous  winners  little 
men  with  bowed  legs  discuss  the  chances  of  two- 
year-olds,  and  strings  of  beautiful  creatures  with 
skins  that  daunt  the  sun  climb  the  hills  from  the 
stable  by  the  green. 

Such  is  Alfriston,  and  though  on  fine  Saturdays 
and  Sundays  in  the  summer  it  has  to  pay  the  penalty 
of  being  so  venerable  and  so  lovely,  it  recovers  its 
tranquillity  and  fastidious  privacy  immediately  the 
last  brake  and  motor-car  have  gone. 

Here  they  stayed  for  six  days,  and  were  really 
happy  in  exploring  the  neighbourhood  —  one  day 
walking  to  Polegate,  by  way  of  Lullington's  toy 
church  and  the  Long  Man  of  Wilmington  ;  one  day 
climbing  to  Eastbourne  over  Beachy  Head  ;  one  day 
over  the  beautiful  turf  to  Southease  Halt,  and  there 
taking  train  for  Lewes,  that  wind-swept  city  of  the 
hills,  with  perpendicular  Georgian  streets,  and  a 
grey  castle  over  all,  and  sentry  windmills  on  guard, 
and  sheep  surrounding  it  like  a  peaceful  army. 

It  was  a  point  of  honour  with  them  not  to  talk 
about  Alison's  marriage  ;  and  in  order  to  keep  the 
conversation  from  too  personal  topics,  Mr.  Thames 
invented  a  number  of  rivalries  and  sweepstakes  which 
lent  a  new  interest  to  their  walks  —  although  little 
enough  in  that  strange  and  fascinating  country  was 


3o8  MR.   INGLESIDE 

needed.  Thus,  they  competed  as  to  which  could 
find  the  greatest  number  of  flowers  in  an  hour ;  they 
guessed  how  long  it  would  take  (distances  are  very 
deceptive  in  those  hills)  to  reach  a  given  summit ; 
and  so  forth. 

Those  were  the  long  excursions.  Shorter  ones 
took  them  to  the  neighbouring  villages  —  little  more 
than  straw  yards  and  churches  :  Aliciston,  with  its 
ancient  dovecot  for  a  thousand  birds  and  its  vener 
able  barn —  surely  the  greatest  barn  in  England — all 
a  wonder  of  beams  and  pillars  within,  and  all  a  won 
der  of  warm,  weather-beaten  and  moss-covered  tiles 
without :  within  as  beautiful  and  sombre  as  a 
cathedral,  without  as  comforting  as  a  hill ;  Ber 
wick,  islanded  on  its  mound  ;  Firle,,  in  the  shadow 
of  its  precipitous  Beacon  and  nobility ;  and  down 
the  valley  to  the  sea,  where  the  Cuckmere  joins  the 
channel,  and  where  a  hundred  years  ago,  when  life 
was  worth  living,  the  smugglers  used  to  land  their 
kegs  on  dark  nights.  But  they  liked  the  hills  the 
best,  for  their  turf  and  their  thyme  and  their  purple 
scabious  and  their  exhilaration ;  and  also  for  the 
conversations  which  they  offered  with  friendly 
shepherds  and  friendlier  dogs  —  old  wind-worn, 
shrewd  men  who  had  never  been  to  London,  and 
possibly  could  not  read,  but  knew  all  that  was  need 
ful. 

Ramer  was  naturally  not  a  little  hurt  when  he 
heard  where  they  had  been,  and  he  had  his  revenge 
in  depreciating  all  the  beauties  of  which  they  told 
him,  and  emphasizing  the  places  they  had  omitted  to 
see.  "To  think,"  he  said,  "that  you  never  went  to 


MR.  INGLESIDE  309 

Ripe  !  Do  you  know  that  Ripe  has  four  Tudor 
houses  in  perfect  condition  ?  Do  you  know  that  you 
could  have  bought  your  lunch  at  a  grocer's  shop 
where  Queen  Elizabeth  might  have  stayed  !" 

"I  wish  I'd  known  where  you  were  going,"  said 
,Dr.  Staminer.  "I  have  a  friend  in  Lewes  who  col 
lects  incunabula.  He  has  the  finest  example  of  the 
Hypnerotomachia  in  existence.  He  would  have  been 
glad  to  welcome  any  friend  of  mine." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  Mr.  Thames  there?" 
Mr.  Ingleside  asked. 

"No,"  said  Dr.  Staminer.     "Why?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

IN  WHICH  TWO  YOUNG  PEOPLE  PREPARE 
TO  BE  VERY  HAPPY  — AND  WHAT  ELSE 
MATTERS  ? 

ALISON  and  Bryan  did  not  care  to  go  abroad 
for  their  honeymoon.  The  routine  horrified 
them  :  the  Royal  Warden,  the  long  journey,  the 
waiters,  the  other  honeymooners,  and  all  the  rest  of 
it.  Instead  they  took  rooms  in  a  cottage  in  a  little 
South  Coast  river  harbour,  and  Mr.  Ingleside  lent 
them  the  Caprice,  although  Bryan  very  properly  ar 
ranged  for  a  sailing  boat  too. 

Bryan  had  been  brought  up  near  a  small  harbour, 
and  now  that  he  was  to  be  happy  and  idle,  he  had 
found  himself  longing  to  renew  those  early  impres 
sions  and  share  them  with  Alison.  He  had  hired  the 
sailing  boat  not  merely  to  sail  in,  but  to  be  in  :  they 
would  spend  their  days  in  her,  whether  out  at  sea  or 
on  her  sheltered  moorings  :  at  ease  on  her  deck  they 
would  command  the  harbour  both  with  eye  and  ear. 
Bryan  had  an  instinct,  had  he  not?  There  is  no 
holiday  like  that !  How  often  on  the  weary  night 
watches  on  his  great  liner  had  he  longed  for  the  time 
when  he  could  enjoy  such  repose  as  this  —  still 
within  call  of  his  chosen  element.  He  would  mo 
mentarily  shut  his  eyes  and  hear  again  the  harbour 
sounds  and  see  the  harbour  sights  and  feel  the  har- 

310 


MR.   INGLESIDE  311 

bour  movements  —  those  dreamy,  hypnotic  move 
ments.  Most  of  all  would  he  feel  the  harbour 
sun  and  acquire  the  harbour  friendliness. 

The  harbour  friendliness  !  The  open,  level  gaze 
of  men  in  boats  —  not  gentry  in  boats,  but  boatmen  : 
eyes  that  have  gazed  at  the  horizon  so  long  that  they 
look  straight  ahead  by  nature  !  The  helpfulness  of 
the  men  in  boats  ;  their  gentleness  ;  the  clean  grub 
biness  of  them  (for  there  is  no  dirt,  there  are  only 
smears  of  tar,  and  patches) ;  their  interest  (seeing 
everything,  even  with  the  backs  of  their  heads) ; 
their  abysmal  deliberateness !  He  smiled  as  he 
thought  of  his  little  harbour's  deliberateness :  the 
men  at  work,  without  hurry,  without  knowledge  of 
time,  only  of  tide.  He  saw  this  one  painting  a  hull ; 
that  one  scraping  a  mast ;  another  mending  a  net ; 
another  polishing  brass  ;  another  —  his  head  alone 
visible  —  shaving ;  another  ferrying  a  passenger 
across ;  and  others  hammering  in  the  shipbuilder's 
yard.  But  all  alike  deliberate,  all  part  of  Nature, 
and  most  whistling.  He  saw  the  boats  coming  in 
and  going  out ;  he  heard  sails  going  up  and  coming 
down ;  he  saw  mud-flats  being  covered  with  the 
beautiful  water ;  the  departure  of  the  beautiful 
water  and  the  exposure  of  the  mud-flats  ;  he  heard 
the  cries  and  wails  of  the  sea-birds.  No  wonder, 
then,  that  when  the  time  came  to  choose  a  place  in 
which  to  spend  the  honeymoon  he  suggested  this 
little  harbour. 

The  wedding  was  to  be  a  very  quiet  one  ;  but  on 
the  evening  before  it  Mr.  Ingleside  entertained  a 
number  of  friends.  Old  Mrs.  Ingleside  and  Miss 


3i2  MR.   INGLESIDE 

Airey  were  there :  nice  rooms  had  been  found  for 
them  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  close  by. 

"It's  a  long  time,"  said  the  old  lady,  " since  I  was 
at  a  wedding.  Not  since  poor  Clara  Elphick's. 
She  was  married  in  May,  I  remember,  and  on  the 
1 3th,  too,  and  every  one  was  saying  how  unlucky  it 
was.  Unlucky  indeed,  for  I  saw  in  the  paper  that 
her  eldest  son  lost  his  father-in-law  only  last  week. 
But  I'm  sorry  there  are  no  bride's-maids,  my  dear. 
I  like  to  see  the  bride's-maids,  pretty  things,  and 
wonder  which  of  them  will  go  next.  Nor  pages. 
Not  that  I  care  very  much  for  pages,  although 
they're  so  fashionable.  And  no  cake  either,  and 
no  rice,  I'm  told.  Well,  well,  times  change ;  but 
I  shouldn't  have  thought  myself  properly  married 
if  there  hadn't  been  rice  and  old  shoes.  Such  a 
number  of  old  shoes,  my  dear.  Your  grandfather 
had  so  many  young  friends,  you  know,  all  full  of 
fun. 

"But  that's  all  changed  now,  it  seems,  and  every 
one  has  become  thoughtful  and  anxious  on  wedding 
days.  I  suppose  it's  the  fault  of  that  foreigner  who 
wrote  the  dismal  plays  :  I  forget  his  name  —  oh  yes, 
Ibsen,  wasn't  it  ?  A  Dane,  I  think  :  the  same  coun 
try  as  our  dear  queen.  Wonderful  how  Denmark 
crops  up  nowadays.  They  tell  me  at  the  grocer's 
that  Danish  bacon  and  eggs  are  better  than  the  best 
English.  Still,  I  consider  his  plays  did  a  lot  of  harm. 
So  gloomy.  But  then  I  suppose  the  Danes  are  a 
gloomy  race :  Hamlet  was  a  Dane,  you  know,  my 
dear.  I  never  knew  one  personally,  but  a  very  inter 
esting  foreigner  used  to  come  to  our  house  when  we 


MR.  INGLESIDE  313 

were  in  Portland  Place.  A  Signer  Cosavella,  but 
I  think  he  was  Italian. 

"Well,  well,  my  dear,  we  must  be  getting  back  to 
the  hotel  now.  I  shan't  have  a  chance  to  speak 
to  you  again  until  you're  Mrs.  Hearne.  I  hope 
you'll  be  very  happy,  my  dear,  and  live  to  use  the 
teapot  for  many  years.  China  tea,  they  tell  me, 
is  all  the  fashion  now ;  but  I  still  like  the  Ceylon  the 
best.  But  you  must  please  yourselves ;  don't  let 
me  influence  you.  Good-night,  my  sweet,  good 
night." 

It  was  not  until  Mrs.  Ingleside  and  Miss  Airey 
had  gone  that  Miss  Larpent  arrived  —  at  once 
taking  her  place,  as  she  did  wherever  she  went,  as 
the  guest  of  honour.  She  established  a  court  in 
Mr.  Ingleside's  study,  and  during  the  evening  sent 
for  the  young  couple  to  receive  her  final  blessing. 

"  And  so  you  are  to  be  married  to-morrow,"  she  said, 
as  they  stood  before  her.  "Well,  I  hope  you  will  be 
very  happy,  and  you  will  if  you  take  my  advice.  A 
considerable  experience  of  other  people's  married  life 
and  some  gift  of  observation  have  qualified  me  to 
scatter  good  counsel. 

"To  you,  Alison,  I  would  say :  Never  have  a 
headache  on  the  same  day  as  your  husband,  or,  if  you 
must,  be  sure  to  have  it,  or  rather  to  mention  it,  first. 
Husbands  and  wives  must  never  be  seedy  together. 

"To  you,  Bryan,  I  would  say  :  When  Alison  says 
to  you,  as  she  will,  that  she  has  a  dreadful  headache, 
be  very  careful,  however  you  may  feel,  to  affect  to  be 
perfectly  well  and  anxious  to  look  after  her. 

"To  both  of  you  I  would  say  :  Be  very  chary  of 


3i4  MR.   INGLESIDE 

using  the  word  'always'  when  you  are  criticizing 
each  other,  as  you  sometimes  must. 

"To  you,  Alison,  my  dear,  I  would  say  :  Never  in 
the  middle  of  one  of  Bryan's  dinner- table  stories  give 
an  order  to  a  servant ;  and  if  he  begins  by  saying  that 
you  went  to  the  theatre  on  Friday,  never  remind  him 
that  it  was  really  Thursday." 

"But,  dear  Miss  Larpent,"  said  Alison,  "you 
don't  really  mean  that  little  things  like  that  could 
make  us  seriously  fall  out?  " 

"My  dear  Alison,"  said  the  old  lady,  "I  mean  it 
absolutely.  The  cockle-shell  of  marriage  is  the  least 
seaworthy  of  all  the  vessels  on  the  ocean  of  life.  A 
breath  will  capsize  it. 

"And  you,  Bryan,  remember  this :  don't  be 
sarcastic.  Sarcasm  in  marriage  is  the  thin  end  of  the 
alienation  wedge.  If,  however,  you  must  be  sarcas 
tic  —  and  you  probably  will,  for  it  is  the  modern 
English  husband's  method  of  beating  his  wife  — 
you,  Alison,  must  be  extremely  careful  not  to  be 
sarcastic  too.  A  household  can  just  stand  one 
sarcastic  inmate  :  two,  and  it  must  fall.  No  rightly 
constituted  sarcastic  husband  could  possibly  stand 
sarcasm  from  his  wife. 

"To  you,  Bryan,  I  would  say:  Remember  the 
chocolate  shops  ;  engrave  Alison's  size  in  gloves  on 
your  heart ;  arrange  your  walk  home  so  that  it 
includes  a  florist's. 

"To  you,  Alison,  I  would  say  :  Try  to  get  a 
housemaid  who  can  also  cook  ;  it  means  so  much  in 
emergencies. 

"Finally"  —  and  here  the  old  lady  became  more 


MR.   INGLESIDE  315 

serious  and  indeed  a  little  tender  —  "finally, 
remember  this,  that  if  you  guard  the  pence  of  love, 
the  pounds  will  take  care  of  themselves.  Don't 
be  careless  of  the  pence  of  love  :  keep  up  the  little 
courtesies  and  though tfulnesses ;  keep  up,  as  long 
as  you  possibly  can,  even  the  little  vocabulary  — 
for  I  will  wager  you  have  one.  The  pounds  of  love 
will  take  care  of  themselves  if  you  watch  these 
trifling  pence." 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Ingleside,  as  Alison  and 
he  paced  up  and  down  on  the  Embankment  after 
all  the  guests  had  gone.  "Be  as  happy  as  you  can, 
and  ask  me  to  come  and  see  you  only  when  Bryan 
is  away.  He  will  have  to  be  away  sometimes  ;  and 
if  he  hasn't,  send  him  away.  The  more  a  husband 
goes  away  from  his  home  and  his  wife,  in  reason,  the 
more  he  will  think  of  them.  The  happiest  husbands 
are  commercial  travellers,  who  go  through  life 
spending  delightful  week-ends  with  their  wives.  In 
any  reincarnation  on  this  globe  that  may  be  vouch 
safed  to  me  I  hope  to  be  a  commercial  traveller— 
principally  for  that  reason. 

"Good-bye,  my  dear  child.  I  have  seen  very 
little  of  you,  and  now  I  am  going  to  see  less  ;  but  I 
love  you  very  much,  and  I  want  you  to  be  happy.  I 
have  arranged  with  my  bankers  to  pay  you  a  hun 
dred  and  four  pounds  a  year,  on  the  understanding 
that  not  a  penny  of  it  is  spent  on  household  ex 
penses." 

It  was  a  night  of  stars,  and  very  still,  and  the  river 
was  silent,  without  a  ripple.  Alison  said  nothing ; 
but  she  had  her  thoughts.  She  and  her  father  were 


316  MR.   INGLESIDE 

more  alike  than  other  people  or  even  he  supposed, 
and  there  were  hidden  resemblances  to  him  within 
her  that  probably  would  not  come  to  the  surface 
until  she  was  much  older.  She  felt  for  him  now,  for 
she  saw  with  a  flash  of  insight,  possibly  not  to  be 
recaptured  for  years,  how  lonely  he  was,  and  how 
little  she  really  wanted  to  leave  him,  and  how  much 
more  interesting  he  was,  with  all  his  detachments, 
than  her  nice  but  limited  sailor.  And  then  fortu 
nately  the  veil  dropped  again,  and  she  was  again  a 
simple  girl,  happy  that  to-morrow  —  or  rather  to 
day,  for  it  was  very  late  —  she  was  to  be  married 
to  her  lover  and  to  have  a  home  of  her  own.  "Dear," 
she  said,  and  kissed  her  father  in  a  new  way ;  and 
then  he  took  her  to  the  door  and  left  her. 

It  was  long  before  he  entered  the  house  himself. 
He  resumed  his  walk  by  the  inscrutable  tide  and 
thought  with  renewed  longing  of  Askill. 


Other  Books  by  E.  V.  LUCAS 

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A  Novel 

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real  personality. 

"To  the  reader  who  cares  for  humor,  for  true  observation  of 
life,  for  bookish  enthusiasms,  for  style,  the  book  is  a  restful 
oasis  in  a  desert  of  thrills."  —  Pittsburg  Post. 

"Those  who  love  gentle  sentiment,  mild  yet  pungent  humor, 
and  whimsical  Lamb-like  grasp  of  the  prevailing  human  situa 
tion,  combined  with  a  well-ending  double  love  episode,  will 
find  it  decidedly  worth  reading."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"Just  such  a  whole-souled,  leisurely,  human  book  as  Lamb 
himself  might  have  written."  —  Gazette-  Times. 

"  It  is  almost  without  plot  or  action,  but  so  quaint  and  likable 
that  it  is  good  reading  notwithstanding."  —  Philadelphia  Even 
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Listener's  Lure 

A  Kensington  Comedy 

A  novel,  original  and  pleasing,  whose  special  charm  lies  in  its 
happy  phrasing  of  acute  observations  of  life.  For  the  delicacy 
with  which  his  personalities  reveal  themselves  through  their 
own  letters,  "the  book  might  be  favorably  compared,"  says 
the  Chicago  Tribune,  "  with  much  of  Jane  Austen's  character 
work  "  —  and  the  critic  proceeds  to  justify,  by  quotations,  what 
he  admits  is  high  praise  indeed. 

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The  Gentlest  Art 

A  Choice  of  Letters  by  Entertaining  Hands 

An  anthology  of  letter  writing,  so  human,  interesting,  and  amus 
ing  from  first  to  last,  as  almost  to  inspire  one  to  attempt  the 
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likable. 

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The  Ladies'  Pageant 


Better  than  any  one  else  whose  name  comes  to  mind,  Mr.  Lucas 
has  mastered  the  difficult  art  of  the  compiler.  There  is  more 
individuality  in  "The  Gentlest  Art,"  for  instance,  than  in  the 
so-called  original  works  of  many  an  author.  This  happy  knack 
of  assembling  the  best  things  in  the  world  on  a  given  subject 
is  given  free  play  in  the  present  book,  the  subject  of  which  is 
the  Eternal  Feminine.  Here  are  all  the  best  words  of  the 
poets  on  a  theme  which  surely  offers  scope  for  more  variety 
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Some  Friends  of  Mine 

A  Rally  of  Men 

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don  well  will  hereafter  look  on  it  with  changed  eyes,  and  one 
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loiterer,  rather  than  a  keen-eyed  reporter,  eager  to  catch  a  train 
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the  fact  that  the  author  is  so  much  in  love  with  the  artistic  life 
of  Holland."  —  Globe-Democrat,  St.  Louis. 
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distinctive  qualities  of  the  French  people.  There  is  charm  in 
its  vivid  painting  of  the  vivacity  and  gayety  of  Paris  streets, 
fine  analysis  in  the  penetration  that  sees  often  a  suggestion  of 
anxiety  under  the  animation  of  face  and  gesture.  He  has  a 
happy  faculty  of  creating  a  desire  to  see  the  scenes  he  describes 
and  a  knack  of  expressing  exactly  the  shade  of  pleasure  the 
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Character  and  Comedy 

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Another  Book  of  Verse  for  Children 

Verses  of  the  seasons,  of  "  little  fowls  of  the  air,"  and  of  "  the 
country  road"  ;  ballads  of  sailormen  and  of  battle;  songs  of 
the  hearthrug,  and  of  the  joy  of  being  alive  and  a  child, 
selected  by  Mr.  Lucas  and  illustrated  in  black  and  white  and 
with  colored  plates  by  Mr.  F.  D.  Bedford.  The  wording  of 
the  title  is  an  allusion  to  the  very  successful  "  Book  of  Verse 
for  Children  "  issued  ten  years  ago.  The  Athenceum  describes 
Mr.  Lucas  as  "  the  ideal  editor  for  such  a  book  as  this." 

Cloth,  8vo,  colored  illustrations,  $1.50  net 

Three  Hundred  Games  and  Pastimes 

OR, -WHAT  SHALL  WE  Do  Now  ?  A  book  of  suggestions  for 
the  employment  of  young  hands  and  minds,  directions  for 
playing  many  children's  games,  etc. 

Decorated  cloth,  x  +  392  pages,  $2.00  net 


PUBLISHED    BY 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

Sixty-four  and  Sixty-six  Fifth  Avenue,   New  York 


V 

TA 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


0 


SEP 

SEP  U 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-50m-12,'64(F772s4)458 


370895 

PR6023 

Lucas,  E.V.  U24 

Mr.  Ingleside.          M5 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


